The Code
by Aduro
Summary: AU,6th yr. Draco has a secret, he's a genius. Bill Weasley is teaching Ancient Runes. 6th year brings debate class, mystery, horcruxes,etc full sum inside, not slash, complete, thanks to my beta!
1. The Dissenter's Code

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own the very cool, pink and green knee socks that I am wearing right now.

Summary: Takes place in an alternate sixth year. Draco has a secret: he is a wizarding genius and is being pressured to take the Dark Mark. Bill Weasley got a job teaching Ancient Runes at Hogwarts, but he too has a secret: he is spying for the Order. What happens when these two discover each others secrets? Can they help each other survive the year?

Thanks to Ada Achlys for betaing.

Chapter 1: The Dissenter's Code

Draco had a theory, one to explain to himself why people acted the way that they did. Most people would say that people acted in response to stimuli by how they were raised or according to their nature. Draco figured that everyone had their own internal code. The code varied from person to person, but not just in the difference of rules. Some people were aware of their code and others had their code in their subconscious. Some codes had rules, while others just had values, but everyone had a code. If they didn't have a code, they wouldn't know how to act.

Draco watched the students clamor aboard the Hogwarts Express from his compartment window, his eyes lighting on a black haired boy with green eyes, a perfect example in his theory. The great Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Everything he did was dictated by his Gryffindor values, and his desire not to be like the Slytherins or Lord Voldemort. Granted this was all on a subconscious level, but the fact was that if Potter saw someone getting bullied, he would go to stop it because that's what heroes did, and that's what was in his code.

Now take someone like Theodore Nott. His personal code was the exact replica of Lord Voldemort's because he wanted to be a Death Eater, so if he saw someone being bullied, he would join in.

As for himself, he was in a bit of dilemma over it. You see, Draco had a secret, a secret that he had kept since he was four years old, a secret that only he knew. Once upon a time, his private tutor had known the secret as well. In fact, the old man had been the one to discover the secret and was the one who instructed Draco to keep it hidden, a fact Draco was thankful for.

Draco was smart. Of course he was smart, just last year he had received straight E's on his grade sheet from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The thing was that Draco had been receiving straight E's on his grade sheets for the five years he had attended the school. An idiot could figure out that no one received straight E's for five straight years just because that's how smart they were, and if any of the teachers opened up the school file on him (none of them would, he made sure that they hated him) they could figure out the secret that Draco had kept for twelve years.

Draco was a genius. A whiz kid. A child prodigy hidden underneath the disguise of a slightly-smarter-than-average, prejudiced, spoiled prat with a Death Eater for a father and a drug addict for a mother.

That was why he was having such a difficulty trying to figure out his own code. For as long as he could remember his own guiding light had been the Malfoy Family Code. Draco doubted that such a thing really existed, but his father used to quote rules from it to him, and Draco, being an obedient and awe-struck son, had copied down the rules onto parchment. He had sixty-four of the damned rules lying in his journal on his lap.

Because he had shooed Crabbe and Goyle away, he was alone and so gave a sigh, breaking rule number 23. Lately he had been having difficulties keeping the Malfoy Code, because rule number one was 'obey your father'. If only Lucius had stayed in Azkaban, then he wouldn't be having this problem. He let his head lean back on the seat and thought about that summer.

----------------------FLASHBACK-----------------------------------

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since school let out and Draco was having one of the better summers of his sixteen years. Both of his parents were gone, Lucius was in Azkaban and Narcissa was 'visiting relatives'. Granted that 'visiting relatives' was code word for screwing another man, but Draco wasn't supposed to know that, though, as he was a genius, it was impossible to fool him. He had known since he was seven and his mother had invited another man over to the Manor when Lucius was away. Draco had gone into the kitchen to get something to eat and found her and 'Cousin Richard' doing something he had never seen before on the long table. He had immediately left (she swore and threw a candlestick at him) and looked it up in a book. And that is how Draco learned about marital activities and marital infidelity and 'accidentally' set the table on fire so that he wouldn't have to eat on it.

Draco was enjoying the relaxed feeling at his home. He walked around the Manor with no shoes on, sometimes sliding on the polished floors in his sock feet, and not bothering to tuck his shirt in. He knew he should be upset that his father was in prison, but at the same time he felt…relief. His father was smart, not as smart as Draco, but cunning and manipulative. Draco never knew when his father had his own agenda and to be constantly searching out hidden reasons or secrets was stressful and kept him constantly on edge, questioning and analyzing every move. Even though he was always braced for the worst around his father and even though he told himself over and over again that his father was a murderer and a schemer, the boy in him always treasured those moments when Lucius looked at him with pride in his eyes or laid his hand approvingly on his shoulder. It was the closest to 'I love you' Draco ever got.

Draco was not lonely being alone in the large mansion. Lucius was usually away on business, and even when Narcissa was home, she was usually high on illegal pleasure potions. Draco spent his mornings flying his broom or riding the thestrals and his afternoons reading books on topics anywhere from Conceptual Potions to the History of the Ministry of Magic to Advanced Physics and Modern Medical Discoveries. Yes, it was Muggle stuff, but Draco was a genius and he grew bored and restless when he wasn't challenged.

Right now he was playing the grand piano in the music room. Narcissa had hired a professional instructor when he was five so that she could show him off to her friends. While performing for an audience, Draco played exactly what was written, his fingers skillfully tripping up the keys to play complicated runs. While he was at home however, he varied the tempos and the volume and added in his own syncopated rhythms, inserting a passion he did not reveal to listeners. He crashed his fingers down to elicit the fury of the concerto, slowly transforming into a slow dirge, and ending on a slightly dissonant chord filled with longing.

Slow, slightly mocking applause caused him to whip around. Lucius was standing in the doorway looking absolutely perfect with his dark red robes falling in graceful curves around his body, his cane leaning against the door.

"You have never played like that before, boy," said Lucius in a slight drawl, raising an eyebrow with a lofty sort of humor in the grey orbs.

Draco felt a slight tinge of fear, though he could not explain why. "I didn't know you were released, Father," he said coolly, trying to keep a neutral expression on his face. He could feel the tension again, rising in his chest, threatening to strangle him like an exotic snake. _How_ _fitting, a snake_, he thought, fighting back an inane bout of laughter. His father without an ulterior motive was as unlikely as Dumbledore giving up lemon drops, so what was he here for? What did he want?

"You didn't know on purpose," said Lucius. "I wasn't released."

Draco immediately understood; the Dark Lord had freed him. The snake around his chest constricted.

"No doubt you will read about it in the Daily Prophet tomorrow night. That's when the breakout will be discovered," Lucius said, flicking a bit of dust from his sleeve that Draco knew wasn't really there. "Well, come here, boy," said Lucius in a faintly annoyed tone. "Let me have a look at you. I haven't seen you since last summer."

Draco got to his feet in a gracefulness he inherited from both his father and his mother, and walked over, feeling Lucius' penetrating gaze sweep over him. He suddenly wished that he had tucked in his shirt and put shoes on. He had grown and was roughly the same height as Lucius now, but Lucius had platforms in his boots that made him two inches taller, though it seemed more like two feet.

He looked straight forward as Lucius walked around him, forcing himself not to shiver as he could feel the grey eyes study him, measuring him to some unknown standard. Lucius stopped in front of him, reached out to grasp his chin, and tilt his face up.

"You've grown," said Lucius softly. Draco detected a bit of sorrow in those grey eyes.

"Yes, Father," he said. "It has been nearly a year."

Lucius' finger traced his jaw lightly in a manner that almost portrayed fondness.

"I missed your birthday," he said, his voice now having inflections of regret. "Was your mother here for it at least?"

"She's visiting relatives," said Draco.

"Of course she is," said Lucius, his voice dripping with annoyance. Draco knew that Lucius was quite aware of his wife's activities. "Though it was probably a good thing she was not present for the occasion. Merlin knows what she would have done to you."

Draco flinched as he remembered 'the incident'. Yes, it was a good thing his mother was gone.

"What did you get for yourself?" Lucius asked, noticing the flinch and narrowing his gaze, disliking the show of emotion.

"I went to Diagon Alley and bought myself a new broom," said Draco.

"I thought you were not to go there alone," said Lucius, his tone darkening.

"I was not to go without a chaperone until I was sixteen," said Draco. "I was sixteen."

"Yes, but that was assuming that there was someone at the house who knew that you were leaving!" said Lucius sharply. "There are many people out there who prey on young wizards walking about alone."

"All of those people are Dark Wizards who know that if they touch me, you will hunt them down and torture them to death," said Draco, feeling like a normal teenager with an overprotective father for once, and not a teenager with Death Eaters for parental figures. "And those who are your enemies wouldn't dare do a thing as low as kidnapping because of their morals," Draco continued. "I am old enough to take care of myself."

Lucius' tense posture relaxed a millimeter, which was his equivalent of sighing. "I suppose you are then," he said. "Well, run along and do your school work. I have duties to attend to in my office."

Draco inclined his head to his father and went to his own study in his wing of the Manor. He had already finished his homework, but Lucius was to be obeyed, at least part of the way. He picked up his Muggle text on Calculus and lost himself in the equations.

Lucius was not at dinner that night, which was not surprising. What was surprising was that when Draco went down for breakfast, wearing his riding clothes, early the next morning, Lucius was there wearing similar attire.

"I thought I would join you," said Lucius. Draco figured that Lucius had checked up with the house elves on his daily schedule but for the life of him couldn't figure out why. The tension that he had managed to shake off last night came back.

After the morning meal they went out to the thestral stables on the property, Draco choosing Eagan, a fiery stallion, and Lucius choosing a slightly older, and better behaved Ammon.

"How was the year?" asked Lucius, once they were air born.

"The usual," said Draco.

"Your grades?" asked Lucius.

"Mostly E's," said Draco. They were all E's but Lucius wouldn't bother checking.

"I won't be here for the rest of the summer," said Lucius. "Our lord needs work done abroad."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know he had interests overseas," he said.

"It is a new development," said Lucius. "I want you to go to France for the summer as I will be unavailable and your mother is Merlin knows where."

"Why France?" asked Draco, not minding going to the country where he was born and raised.

"I will mostly be in France," said Lucius. "And our lord wishes to meet you."

Draco felt his blood run cold. "Is that so, Father?" he asked.

"He has heard about you and is most impressed," said Lucius. "He wishes you to join his ranks."

Draco didn't allow his panicking emotions to take control, instead he let the analytical and logical side take over and file the information away for a later time. "When?" he asked, seemingly unconcerned.

"The night school lets out," said Lucius.

"A good night," said Draco, neither accepting nor declining the position.

"I will let him know you look forward to it," said Lucius. "And when you meet him, you can tell him in person as well. I must go inside now and have the house-elves pack. No doubt the Aurors will be combing the Manor by nightfall. Don't stay out too long."

"I won't, Father," said Draco as his father kicked Ammon into a gradual dive. Once his father was back in doors, he let Eagan have his head and held on tightly with his knees as the thestral went into a steep dive and went into a barrel roll. His father did not approve of such actions, saying that anything reckless was in violation of the Malfoy code, rule fifteen, but Draco didn't care right then. He had no wish to be a murderer, but he had precious little choice about the matter. He could of course refuse, but that would mean being disinherited and probably killed. Not to mention he would have no where to go, and he doubted he would be welcomed with opened arms to Dumbledore's little resistance.

He urged Eagan on, wanting to feel even more danger to get his mind off the fact that for the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do.

-------------------END FLASHBACK-------------------------

It was the end of August now, and he still didn't know what to do. The train blew its whistle for a last time, and outside mothers and fathers gave their loud and obnoxious children one last hug good-bye through open windows while a few parents of first years blinked back tears. Draco glared out the window at the lot of them as the sight of the countless innocents made him think back on his impending decision to be made. The code he had adapted his life to would force him to take the Dark Mark like his father wished, but Draco wanted a choice. Unfortunately the only other choice was Dumbledore, and Draco was not happy with that option.

He opened the journal in a fit of rage and tore out the pages that held the Malfoy Code he had copied. A quick incendio later and all that was left was ash. Draco didn't like his options, so he would make his own, however logic demanded that if his theory was to be correct, then he needed some other code to follow. He frowned. Well he was a genius; he would just have to write his own.

He pulled out a quill and ink and in a script perfected by countless tutors he wrote on the top of the page in his journal 'The Dissenter's Code'. Now all he needed were rules.

Draco sighed again, and felt no guilt. He was following his own rules now, quite literally, and so he could do as he pleased. He set the journal aside and as Crabbe and Goyle weren't to come back (he had forbidden it) he was going to enjoy this train ride. He reached into his bag and pulled out Volsky's book, _The_ _Time-Turners Explained_ and a Muggle book _The Physics of Time Travel_; he wanted to mark the differences.

In a few moments he was lost in the world of time machines and alternate dimensions (now that was an interesting theory). His feet were stretched out on the seat in front of him and the book he wasn't currently reading placed on his lap with parchment next to him on the seat to write down anything that barred further investigation. He held the book with one hand, the fingers of the other used to tap out crazy rhythms on the book in his lap. If his hand stilled, it was only because he was then tapping his foot. He was slightly hyperactive, though you would never know it by looking at him (in classrooms his foot was constantly bouncing up and down so that his whole leg jounced, but it was silent and hidden by his robes). The way he saw it, when his mind was that active, his body had to be as well or he couldn't concentrate because he would be off balance.

He frowned then wrote down on the parchment 'black holes, rifts in time?' and picked up the wizarding book to see if it had anything to say on rifts in the fourth dimension. He doubted it would.

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Bill Weasley sat in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express trying to calm the clenching in his stomach that had nothing to do with the rocking train. His youngest brother Ron sat next to him, Ron's best friend Harry was in the seat across from them with Ron's ex-girlfriend Hermione next to the boy hero. Apparently Hermione and Ron had tried dating over the summer, but had both decided it was best if they just remained friends. Bill couldn't help but notice that Harry seemed much more sober and duller than usual, but the death of his godfather had been a terrible blow.

The door slid open to reveal Ginny and Luna who came in to join them.

"Thought we'd say 'hi'," said Ginny, giving them all a bright smile.

"Aren't you a little old to be coming to Hogwarts?" asked Luna, turning her large eyes on Bill who immediately felt uncomfortable from the scrutiny.

"He's teaching Ancient Runes," Ginny explained.

"Ohh," said Luna, nodding so that the Christmas tree earrings she wore bounced up and down. Bill decided not to ask about the holiday décor.

"Hey, Hermione, shouldn't you and Ron be in the Prefect's compartment?" asked Ginny.

"The Head Boy and Girl decided that we would all be in our own compartments this year," said Hermione. "I don't think they want any problems between us and the Slytherins."

"Smart of them," said Ginny. She smiled at her eldest brother. "Nervous?"

"A little," he admitted.

"You shouldn't be," said Hermione, looking up from her book. "It's not like you can be worse than Umbridge."

Those present chuckled at that.

"I have heard the horror stories," said Bill. "But it's the curriculum I'm worried about."

"How so?" asked Hermione, immediately interested.

"The NEWT class is just a one year course now," said Bill. "As opposed to the two years it used to be. The other two classes are Introduction to Ancient Runes and Advanced Ancient Runes. Anyone can be in the classes though you need to take both for the NEWT class. Mostly fifth years will be in the intro class while the advanced class will have sixth years and some seventh years who want to take it but can't manage the NEWT class. I think there are some fifth year Ravenclaws in the Advanced Class, let me check." Bill rummaged around in his pocket for the list of students he had received late last night.

"Oooo," said Hermione. "Who's in my class?"

Bill pulled it out but Ron grabbed it. "Some seventh year Gryffindors," he said, skimming the list. "Mostly Ravenclaws though, and two of them are in fifth year! That's just sick. A few Hufflepuffs and – Malfoy?" The last was a yelp.

"What?" demanded Hermione. "He wasn't in Ancient Runes last year, how can he be in Advanced Ancient Runes?"

"Apparently he took a summer course," said Bill, shrugging. Sure the kid was a spoiled brat, but he couldn't be that bad, could he? The teenagers were looking at him with pity in their eyes. "What?" he asked.

"I'm sorry," said Ginny. "And good luck." She and Luna left to go talk to their friends and Bill turned to the trio.

"Is he that bad?" he asked, and was immediately regaled with terrible stories. Harry joined in as well, his eyes getting back some of their spark as they debriefed Bill on the history of their nemesis from Buckbeak to fake dementors to ratting them out to Umbridge. Bill got a little worried at the tales; the kid sounded like a miniature Lord Voldemort.

Gradually the topic changed to Quidditch and Bill stared out the window as the scenery rolled by. He would have never thought in a million years that he would be teaching Ancient Runes. AR had been his favorite subject as a student in Hogwarts.

The runes were the written language of ancient wizards and witches anywhere from 1200 B.C. to the sixteen hundreds. As the history of magic was a turbulent one, filled with bloodshed and treachery and warring clans, often time messages were coded so that they wouldn't fall into enemy hands. Unfortunately now those messages were still coded, and so many secrets and potions and spells were lost.

"Bill," said Hermione, then blushed. "Is it alright to call you Bill?"

"Sure," Bill grinned.

"Why did you get into curse breaking if you like Ancient Runes so much?" she asked.

Bill settled back. "Well, at the time there wasn't any demand for translators," he said. "The general consensus was that we know all we need to know about magic and that we don't need to go translating the hundreds of codes there are out there. When I enter pyramids or crypts or what not to break curses, usually they are booby trapped with some ancient code so it's the closest I get to doing real translations. However, now that Voldemort is back, people are beginning to realize that perhaps Old Magic might really be important, after all, that's how we think Voldemort got back into power."

"Then why aren't you at a job translating?" asked Hermione.

Bill hesitated. "Let's just say that Dumbledore wanted me here," he said.

He wished he hadn't said anything as they started pressing him for information.

"When you join the Order, you can know," said Bill. "Until then, just be on your guard. We have a bunch of new teachers this year and they aren't appointed by Dumbledore. Seems the Ministry still wants to control Dumbledore's power because so many people are turning to him for advice and not the elected officials. So watch your back."

"So you're coming for protection," said Hermione.

"That's right," said Bill, though he knew it was much more than protecting Harry he was getting into. In fact the thing he was getting into was so secret that only Dumbledore, Minerva, and Severus Snape knew what he was doing, and he was scared.

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	2. Rule 1: Do not

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own bright yellow headphones that match the bright yellow detailing on my laptop!

Chapter 2

_Rule #1: Do not let any one make your decisions for you._

Draco scowled as he looked at his schedule for sixth year classes. NEWT Potions, NEWT Transfigurations, Advanced Arithmancy, Advanced Ancient Runes, NEWT Herbology, NEWT Defense Against the Dark Arts, yes it was all in order. He was scowling because of the tiny class added on after supper Wednesday evenings. The script read Debate Class.

Yes, he had heard Dumbledore announce the debate class for sixth and seventh years over the welcoming feast last night, but that didn't mean he was open to the idea. Really, a debate class where the students could, and here he quoted Dumbledore in his mind, 'discuss the differences of opinion expressed in the modern day wizarding world in a safe and productive environment where each student can come to his or her own conclusions without the interference of friendly or familial prejudices'. He swore Dumbledore had looked his way when he had mentioned the family prejudice part.

"What are you thinking?" asked Blaise Zabini next to him.

Without paying conscious attention to what he was saying, Draco reeled off the little snippet of speech he had been replaying in his head. It was only when he took a swig of pumpkin juice that he realized Blaise was staring at him impressed.

"You remembered Dumbledore's speech?"

Draco mentally kicked himself. He was losing it; he had nearly given away the fact that a certain Draco Malfoy was a whole lot smarter that he let on.

"Paraphrasing," he said, shrugging. "Though it's close I think. He definitely used the 'familial prejudices'. I remember because he looked straight at me when he said it. I swear, the old man thinks I'm already like _my_ old man."

Ah, the joys of redirection. Blaise immediately looked sympathetic; he was, after all, from a neutral family, and so his parents didn't care which side he chose. Draco wished he could say the same about his father. But, the crisis had been adverted, and Blaise did not find out the fact that the arrogant Slytherin next to him could probably rattle off the entire welcoming speech that Dumbledore gave, and could probably reiterate the rather lengthy speech the new DADA professor gave as well.

Draco studied his schedule, not because he needed to learn it (he'd had it memorized within the first ten seconds of receiving it) but because he was mentally planning out his grading schedule. It wasn't easy trying to figure out how to get straight E's and make it look natural. He plotted out which days he would get A's on his reports and tests (usually those around Quidditch days because it was expected that he wouldn't be studying much) and then pair each A with an O so that his grade would even out to an E. But as much work as it was, it was also challenging, and he liked challenging.

Draco brought himself out of his musings and pushed his barely touched breakfast plate away from him. He didn't eat much as meals at home were always strained and tense. Muggle psychologists would call that negative reinforcement, repeatedly pairing an event with something bad (in this case the stifling atmosphere) until the subject (him) learns to never do that event again (eating).

Alright, it wasn't all his parents' fault. He just wasn't a big eater to begin with, and felt that unless it was paired with reading a book or doing research, it was a waste of time. Too bad that it was necessary for survival.

"What do you have?" asked Blaise next to him. Draco put the parchment down on the table so that Blaise could see it as well.

Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays had Potions, Herbology and then lunch followed by DADA in the afternoon. Tuesdays and Thursdays had longer class segments of Arithmancy with Transfigurations and Ancient Runes after lunch. He grimaced. With the debate club on Wednesdays, he would have a hard time getting homework done for weekday assignments. Luckily, Arithmancy didn't start until ten, so he could stay up later Wednesday nights to do homework then sleep in and skip breakfast Thursdays.

His eyes strayed to the Ancient Runes block. Of all of the classes he was taking he was looking forward to this class the most. He had taken Arithmancy and Ancient Runes in a summer class in Paris because he had nothing to do and was incredibly bored, and he discovered that deciphering runes was a lot of fun. There were so many dialects out there, so many different codes, but once you found the main equation, it was like the light had turned on and all of a sudden things became that much clearer. Of course, there were hundreds of codes no one had gotten around to breaking, some were just too difficult, but he knew he could crack them. His professor over the summer had been a kind, scattered brained, middle aged man who had seen right through his façade of mediocrity and had challenged him to excel. So he did; he'd even helped him decipher a new code.

As he bent over his schedule his hair fell from where he had shoved it behind his ears and obscured his vision. He batted it away, but the pale gold curtain just returned at gravity's call. He sighed and after rummaging through his bag, pulled out a black elastic hair tie and threw his hair back into a small ponytail. He was going through what his father called his 'rebellious stage'. He had gone to France and come back sullen, surely, sarcastic, and cynical and he had let his hair grow out. It was only to his chin, which meant that several strands of hair came loose from the tie and framed his face and that the hairs at the back of his neck also escaped but he didn't pay them any attention.

The reason for his rebellion had confused his father; hadn't he always given Draco what he wanted? Didn't Draco have money and power? Well, yes, but Draco had a few good reasons.

One: Draco had been taken to a few Death Eater meetings over the summer, and although Draco could be called cold-hearted and prejudiced, he did not agree with murder. He also did not agree with harming women (well, most women) and children. They were innocent and were not to be touched, not even the Muggle children. That did not mean he believed that Muggles were equal with wizards, or even that Mudbloods were equal to purebloods, he hadn't thought that far on the issue, and every time he did, he got hopelessly confused and a migraine to go along with it. For now, Draco concluded that Voldemort was a maniacal, torture loving madman and anyone who followed him was the same

Two: Draco had been told all his life that Voldemort was akin to a god, yet Voldemort had nearly been defeated by a baby. Plus, Voldemort had met Draco, shaken his hand, and looked into his eyes, and he had not realized that Draco was disgusted with him, and he had not realized that Draco was a genius.

Three: Voldemort was a half blood. Rather funny that, he privately thought. To think that the pure blood revolution was led by a man born of a Muggle father. It was even worse than being born to a Muggle-sympathizer. That right there nullified any argument anyone might make for pureblood domination and completely destroyed the cause for the purification of the blood lines.

No, Draco did not want to be a Death Eater, however his options were still limited. Right now he was in a neutral zone, but he didn't know if that neutral zone would last for long. He would have to choose by the end of the school year, but there was one thing Draco was not going to do. He was not going to let anyone choose for him. He made a mental note to mark that down in his journal under to 'Dissenter's Code'. _Rule number one: Do not let anyone make your decisions for you._ Yes, that was a good first rule.

His eyes drifted over the name beneath the Ancient Runes heading. Professor Weasley.

He looked up at the thin, red-haired man who was sitting next to Dumbledore. The two were in a serious discussion, but the eldest Weasley's appearance detracted from his grim expression. His hair was long and pulled back into a braid and he had a dangling skull earring in his left lobe. His bright indigo robes were open over a gold button up shirt and black pants. His shoes were dragon scaled boots. Draco frowned. What sort of professor was he?

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Bill listened to Dumbledore's warnings, then nodded.

"I think I've got it, Headmaster. After all, I've cracked the Ramses Curse in three seconds flat, how hard can a bunch of kids be?" His light teasing was for his own benefit, because the fact was, he was nervous, as nervous as he had been entering a pyramid on his own for the first time. Dumbledore must have caught on to what he was feeling.

"I'm sure you'll do fine Bill," he said. "You were Head Boy after all."

Bill smiled and cast a look down the table at the new teachers. There was Bryant Stevick, the Defense professor, an average looking man with brown hair and brown eyes. There was Claire Jameson, a student teacher in her early twenties. She was pretty with long blond hair and light blue eyes, but she was modest too, and soft spoken. Bill wondered how long she was going to last. There were new students as well, a surprise since nearly a quarter of the school was gone because the parents had deemed it not safe. These students were from Durmstrang or Beauxbatons and they had been sorted along with the first years. There was even a sixth girl who had been home-schooled and she made it into Ravenclaw. Most of their parents had thought Hogwarts would be safest because Dumbledore was there, the exact opposite of all of those who had pulled their children. Bill wondered who was right.

He started to turn his attention back to his coffee when a pair of grey eyes caught his gaze. He looked up and found Draco Malfoy studying him, not at all abashed in being caught staring.

Bill remembered all of the stories Harry and Ron had told him, trying to convince Bill he was entirely evil. Even Snape had approached Bill last night after the feast with a few tips on how to handle some of the more unruly students. When Bill asked about Draco Malfoy, Snape's gaze narrowed and he said only 'watch yourself around him' and had then stalked off. Well Bill could not watch himself in the physical sense, so he settled for staring right back at the Slytherin.

As soon as the teenager caught his own hazel gaze, his eyes had become much more wary. The grey froze into solid ice, and when Bill still held his gaze, the ice became silver steel. Now that was a glare worthy of Snape, but Bill didn't blink. The impromptu staring match ended when the boy next to Draco nudged him and asked a question. The grey eyes held for a moment, then an eyebrow raised and the pale lips twitched into a sneer, and the icy gaze slid off of him and to his friend.

Bill worked in a field, or did work in a field as of two months ago, where attention to detail could mean saving his life. So when the Malfoy heir turned around to his friend, Bill did his own studying. He took in the hair, and then the all-black robes with a black shirt and pants underneath. His eyes passed over the black bag and the black wand laying on the table close to the boy's left hand for an intimidation factor. He squinted slightly and examined the teenager's face. With all of the stories told about him, Bill expected someone who looked older, not someone who actually looked like a sixteen year old. The Malfoy boy's face was pale, his features sharp but good looking in such a way that Bill would have said beautiful, but that was a girl's term. Right now he looked a little too thin, no doubt because his eating habits didn't seem to be the best. Bill took note of the full plate that was pushed away from the boy, untouched, and then noticed the boy's fingers drumming on the table, not in a bored, languid fashion, but in an energetic, almost frantic manner. He suppressed a smile, either the Malfoy kid had to use the little wizard's room, or he was extremely restless.

He then realized Dumbledore was calling his name and he turned to the Headmaster in apology.

"I'm sorry, Headmaster," he said. "My mind is drifting. You were saying?"

His mind wandered again as Dumbledore was speaking, watching as Stevick left the table. Stevick had been called in by the Ministry to take over DADA for Umbridge, and as the Ministry wasn't exactly Death Eater free, Bill would be sure to keep an eye on him.

Claire Jameson had also been Ministry-appointed, but that was mainly because the Ministry appointed all student teachers. Bill, thankful, did not have to go through student teachings. Only those who were interested in becoming private tutors had to do the student teaching, and he heard that it was brutal. The first year was just simply being a teacher's assistant, and the second year was observing different teachers and maybe instructing a few classes themselves. From what little Bill had gathered from Claire, she was in her second year in the program and would be teaching some DADA classes. He doubted she would be as dangerous as Stevick, but he would watch her all the same.

He looked back down at his breakfast, mentally planning out ways to keep track of the new teachers at Hogwarts. He did not notice as the grey eyes fastened on him once more, nor did he notice the look of bemusement on a certain Slytherin's face.

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Next chapter: Bill and Draco meet for the first time. Please review or the monkeys will get you...that doesn't really sound threatening, does it? I'll work on it. Review anyways.


	3. Rule 2: Never

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own the candy cane I am currently consuming...a little out of season, but still good.

Thanks to my reviewers, I love you guys, this next chapter is for you.

Chapter 3

_Rule #2: Never reveal your strengths, for they can become powerful weapons of surprise when used properly._

Draco hated the first day of school. All the teachers did was drone on about what they expected in class, how they should behave, what level of work was required, and if they ever had a problem, they could talk to them because the professors were their pals. He hated even more the fact that even though it was the second day of school, it was still the first day of second day classes. Draco entertained himself by imagining himself going up to each teacher and saying, 'Hi, my dad wants me to get the Dark Mark at the end of school and I'm not sure if I want to get one. Tattoos just aren't my thing.'

Draco was lost. Not in the physical sense or emotionally or spiritually, but philosophically so. He had recently begun to question the whole "mudblood/ pureblood" thing and discovered that he didn't know what he thought about it. All his life he had just been regurgitating what his father had drilled into him when he was little. Pureblood good. Mudblood bad. Now, he didn't know. Here he was, probably one of the smartest wizards in his time, not knowing about what he thought of the biggest debate in the wizarding world. He was pathetic. He was hopeless. He was screwed. Especially seeing as he was to get the Dark Mark the night after school let out, but the following day was his seventeenth birthday.

The problem with his birthday being that day was this: If Draco refused the Mark that night, his father would disinherit him. If he turned seventeen the day before, all of the money in his personal vaults would be his and his father wouldn't be able to touch a knut of it. Why couldn't he have been born a day sooner?

He sighed and entered the Ancient Runes class. The room was filled with wooden desks and chairs in rows and the front and side walls were covered with chalkboards. He slumped into a desk in the last row and dropped his bag, waiting as everyone else filed in. There were eight Ravenclaws (two of them were originally from Beauxbatons, and one was that home-schooled chick), two Hufflepuffs, three Gryffindors, and himself, the only Slytherin. He frowned. Two of the Gryffindors were seventh years and the other was Granger; he should have known she would be in this class. He slouched further in his chair, his loose hair falling into his eyes.

"Good afternoon, class," said the eldest Weasley, coming into the room and closing the door behind him. "Merlin, I've always wanted to say that."

The class laughed; Draco repressed the urge to roll his eyes and merely curled his lip.

"Let's get started, shall we?" asked the Professor. He walked up the middle aisle and stood in front of the room. "Some of you are seventh years who haven't taken Ancient Runes since fifth year, and some of you have taken Ancient Runes in a summer course and I don't know exactly what you were taught, so to figure out where you are, and to spare me the trivial task of spitting boring rules at you, we are going to play a game. The goal of the game is to be the first to decipher the rules. Everyone partner up and push your desks together."

Draco knew this was going to happen; he also knew that the only other person without a partner was going to be Granger. Sure enough when the scrape of wooden desk legs against a wood floor finally died down, Granger was the only other one who didn't have a body next to her.

"Mr. Malfoy," said Bill. "Please move next to Hermione. She is your partner."

Ah, here it was; the time had come to put on the Malfoy attitude. He leaned back in his chair, his sneer marring his face. He was rich, his father was powerful, even being escaped from Azkaban, and he was good looking, though his eyes were cold and full of disdain.

"I don't work with mudbloods," he drawled, flipping his head to the side to get the hair out of his vision. His now unobstructed line of sight allowed him to see Hermione stiffen at the term.

"No such language will be used in this room, Mr. Malfoy," said Bill calmly.

"Pardon me, Professor," said Draco, unconcernedly. "But as the rules have not yet been given, I did not know you objected to such."

"The entire grounds of Hogwarts objects to such language. Surely you realize this by now, you are a Prefect, aren't you?"

Draco merely lifted an eyebrow.

"Now move next to Hermione, Mr. Malfoy," said Bill.

"Why can't she move over here?" asked Draco. "I happen to like this spot."

"Because I am the teacher here," said Bill simply, and with that he turned his back and retrieved a pile of note cards from his desk.

Draco stared for a split second. No one had ever said that to him before when he had challenged a teacher's authority. Hagrid had fumbled around vainly for a reason, Flitwick had squeaked out something about respect, Snape let him get away with anything, Trelawney had told him his days were numbered, Sprout had blinked at him and then ignored him, and McGonagall said that when he knew everything she had to teach, then he could be teacher and wouldn't have to listen to her. But he did know everything she had to teach. And now this Weasley had just basically told him to move because he was in authority over Draco, and that was that. Had Draco not learned to hide his emotions since he was four, he would have grinned.

Draco picked up his bag, walked to the empty desk next to Hermione, and shoved it next to hers with a louder-than-necessary screech of wood on wood. He slumped into the chair and noticed Hermione's dark brown eyes blazing with indignation. He gave her a 'now really' look, then smirked. She turned back to Bill with a flip of her hair and moved as far as possible away from him.

The game was to simply translate the rules which were in all types of different hieroglyphics. If Draco had wanted to, he could have easily won hands down without anyone's help, but as he was pretending to be a slightly better than average student, and as he and Hermione refused to even look at each other, they lost.

The rules were regular rules, no foul language, be on time, do your homework, etc., but there were catches to all of the rules. No foul language, unless you write it in runes. Be on time, but if you are late you are responsible to catch up on work, but there was no grade penalty. Do your homework, but if you have a time constraint you may turn it in late as long as it is no later than two classes late. The last one caught Draco by surprise. He stared at the board, reading it for what it was in two seconds time. _Call me Bill_.

The glyph used for Bill's name was the symbol for a duck bill, and it took the others quite awhile to figure it out. Bill noticed Draco's stare of comprehension.

"Do you know it, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked.

"No," lied Draco easily, as a stare of comprehension and a stare of incomprehension can look similar, especially when one's expressions were as guarded as his. "I haven't even learned that dialect yet, _Bill_." He said his name in a mocking tone, as if it were supposed to be an act of disrespect not knowing that the Professor wanted them to call him Bill, when, in all actuality, he was showing the Professor that he did understand. He knew the Professor would never realize it though.

Rule number two: Never reveal your strengths, for they can become powerful weapons of surprise when used properly.

"I see," said Bill. "Can anyone else tell me what it says? Yes, Hermione?"

"You want us to call you Bill?" she asked.

Several of the students snickered in Draco's direction as his supposedly intended insult fell flat. He felt his cheeks go slightly pink, and took comfort in the knowledge that his mind was ten times sharper than any of theirs. "I'm smarter," he whispered under his breath. Granger gave him an odd look and he glared at her, realizing that he had slipped and had muttered in French, an honest mistake as French was his native language, but he cursed himself anyway. That was twice in two days. First the incident with Blaise, now this. He was losing it.

"That's right," said Bill. "This is going to be an informal class as it is not as important as your NEWT classes. Now if you are a sixth year and you plan on taking NEWT Ancient Runes next year, I won't be as lenient then. But for now, this is going to be a fun course with lots of hands on activities. I'm only a few years older than you, so I want you to call me Bill. If that's too informal for you, you can call me Professor Bill. Any questions? Good. Now the partners you had for today will be the partners you have for the rest of the year. For homework I want you to take notes on the first five pages of _Ancient Runes and You_, and there will be a quiz on it next class, although our winners for today, Melissa and Patrick, have automatic O's. Alright, that's it here. Class is over and you are dismissed."

Draco put his things back in his bag and was about to leave when Bill called him back. "Mr. Malfoy, a word with you?"

He walked back to the teacher's desk. Bill searched about in the drawers, flipping though papers, until he finally pulled out a green, velvet-covered book.

"Here you go, Mr. Malfoy. I assumed that everyone already learned the Cretin dialect, that was the set of Runes used for the last rule, and since you did not, you'll have to learn it independently, but you can come to me for help. Is this going to be a problem, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Not at all, Professor Weasley," said Draco. He already knew it cold.

"It's Bill," said the Professor. "You don't have to call me Professor Weasley."

Yet you persist on calling me Mr. Malfoy. According to the Social Context Theorem, people immediately respond with the same level of formality they are greeted with, especially if the other party who used the high formality holds a position of authority over the other. In other words, you call me Mr. Malfoy, and I will respond formally without cognitively thinking about it, Draco thought.

"Mr. Malfoy?" asked Bill.

Shit, he'd been lost in his thoughts. Make that three times he had screwed up, Merlin what was wrong with him? Draco shoved the book in his bag and slung it over his shoulder, then looked at the teacher with slight defiance in his eyes.

"You don't have to call me Mr. Malfoy, either," he said.

Bill blinked, startled, and then Draco could see him thinking back to the times he had addressed him.

"Point taken," said Bill, smiling. "Have a good evening, Draco."

"Thank you, Bill," said Draco, nodding regally, but not deigning to echo the sentiment. He turned and walked out of the classroom. First day of classes were officially over.

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Bill watched Draco Malfoy exit his classroom with a frown on his face. There was something that Malfoy-or Draco, now- was not telling him. He had been positive that Draco had translated the 'Call me Bill' rule first because he had been staring at the board. But he had denied it, not fervently or flippantly, but coolly, honestly. And then he had called him Bill in a taunting way, as if he really didn't know what was written there. It had actually caused laughter from a few of the Ravenclaws when Ma-Draco's intended insult had actually not been an insult at all. The pale cheeks had even flushed slightly and the boy had muttered under his breath, most likely even more insults.

Bill banished the thoughts of one Draco Malfoy from his head and made his way to the teacher's lounge. He pushed open the heavy door wanting nothing more than to collapse in the comfy chair at his desk. Teaching was far more strenuous than he thought it was, but the minute he stepped in he was greeted with a loud "Surprise!" as most of the teachers jumped out from behind desks or bookcases and a large amount of red and gold confetti fell on his head. A banner stretched across the room reading, "Happy First Day of Teaching" and underneath that "Congratulations. You're Still Alive."

He laughed, feeling much more awake, and Professor Sprout brought forth a large cake with "Professor Bill Weasley" written in blue icing on it.

"It's Tuesday," he said. "I taught yesterday as well, so it's not really my first day you know."

"But yesterday you hadn't taught all of your classes," said McGonagall, wisely. "And so yesterday and today count as you first official day." The teachers laughed in agreement.

"Come sit down, Bill," said Hagrid, who had not been hiding due to his size. Bill obligingly sat in the armchair next to the fire and McGonagall handed him a piece of cake. She settled down across from him with her own dessert.

"So, how was the first day?" she asked.

"Tiring," said Bill. "If I had known how much work it was, I think I would have been nicer to all of you."

The group laughed.

"No you wouldn't have," said McGonagall. "But you were never too terrible."

"Glad to hear it," said Bill, taking a bite of the cake, which turned out to be chocolate, his favorite.

"Any problems?" asked Sprout.

"With a certain blond boy?" asked McGonagall.

"Nothing too terrible," said Bill, unconsciously repeating the words she had used to describe him. "We had a slight incident with bad language."

"He called Hermione a 'mudblood', didn't he?" asked Flitwick.

Bill nodded.

"'e's always picking on our 'ermione," said Hagrid. "She's a sweet lass, that girl. She don' deserve it."

"No one does," said Sprout.

"But that was it?" asked McGonagall in surprise. "That isn't too terrible."

"He refused to go sit next to her," related Bill, "but I told him I was the teacher and he moved."

"You just said, 'I'm the teacher', and he moved?" asked Sprout incredulously.

"Yeah," said Bill. "It was weird. I was expecting to have to drag him over."

"I remember one time when he was in his second year," said McGonagall. "I asked him to move up a row, and he just looked at me and said 'Why?' I told him so he could see better but he said he could see just fine. So I told him, I wanted him to pay attention, and he said he would. I finally told him that I wanted everyone closer so I wouldn't have to talk as loud, and he started muttering something about acoustics in the room, and the way my voice would carry. I wasn't really paying attention at that point because I had been arguing with him for ten minutes. I finally told him that once he knew everything in the class he could be teacher, but I was smarter than him so I was in charge and I said to move. He gave me this look as if he thought he was smarter than me, but then he moved."

"One time he refused to care for his Flobberworm,' said Hagrid. "I didn't know what to say to him."

"I ignore him," said Sprout.

"Once he refused to participate in the Cheering Charms," said Flitwick, "and I gave him a well over-due lecture on respect."

Bill listened to the stories of Draco Malfoy circle the room, and he thought back to his own lesson. Why had Draco obeyed him when he had caused so much grief to the other teachers? Surely it wasn't respect for him, was it then simply respect for authority? He would have to look into it.

"Oh, and Bill," said McGonagall.

"Yes?" he asked, pulling himself from his thoughts.

"The files of the students in your classes are on your desk."

"Thank you," he said. Maybe he could find something that would explain Draco's behavior in his dossier. It was worth a look as soon as he had gone over the folders for the students in his NEWT's class. As a teacher, he owed it to help them first.

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Please review! If you don't the penguins will get you (muwhahaha!).

Next chapter, debate club gets organized, who will choose what side? And what will Dumbledore tell Bill?


	4. Rule 3: Know thy enemy

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And my sister stole my bright yellow headphones, so I don't have those either.

A million thanks to my reviewers. I actually finally figured out how to use that cool reply to review button, I just don't know where all your peoples replies went.

A billion thanks to my beta, Ada Achlys. I can't do this without you, you're the best.

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Chapter 4

_Rule #3: Know thy enemy. Know him well._

Draco followed the rest of the sixth and seventh year students into the Transfiguration classroom Wednesday evening. He sat in the back, the rest of the Slytherins filling in around him, and looked up as McGonagall stood at the front of the room and raised her hands for silence.

"Thank you," she said, "and welcome to your first Debate Class. To start with we will be discussing current issues such as the proposed Pureblood/Muggleborn marriage laws and gradually work up to the war between Lord Voldemort and his supporters and those who oppose him."

There were gasps at the name, and the students looked around uneasily. Draco merely raised an eyebrow; they obviously wanted to start out slow.

"This is how it will work," said McGonagall loudly, calling the students' attention back to her. "As the main issue is whether or not Purebloods are better than other wizards, you will be divided into groups: those who believe that pureblood reign is justified, and those of you who don't. The groups will meet in separate locations and will prepare every Wednesday for a debate that will be held the Wednesday before Christmas break and another one sometime in the spring season. After break we will start discussing the Death Eaters and the war, for now concentrate on the proposed marriage laws.

"If you are neutral or undecided, you will have the ability to move from room to room, but will not be allowed to participate in the major debates unless you make up your minds before then. There are sign-up sheets on the front board and you are allowed to change sides should you so desire. When you sign up, be sure to take the parchment of instructions that apply to your group and then you are dismissed. That is all."

She stepped away and immediately the Golden Trio rushed to put their names down on the Against Pureblood Reign sheet. His Slytherins looked to him and he gestured for them to go ahead. Draco leaned back in his seat to watch. He noted who put down what, who seemed to be agonizing the most over it, and who was confident. To his surprise, Blaise Zabini walked calmly over to the Against side and put his name down to the shock of the Golden Trio and the watching Gryffindors. When Nott, in outrage, screamed "Traitor!" at him and tired to hex him, Zabini deflected it and Nott was given detention.

Potter was still staring at Blaise in suspicion and the rest of the Gryffindors were as well. Draco knew why they were suspicious; it would be just like a Slytherin to join for information purposes. However, Draco knew that Blaise was acting not out of orders to spy but his own beliefs. He also knew that if Blaise wanted to survive sixth year without being hexed into oblivion, he would need help getting on the trio's good side, and into their protection. He affixed a cold, enraged look on his face, stood, and approached Blaise.

Blaise's eyes grew wide as Draco came closer. The two had a tentative friendship, and Blaise obviously thought that Draco was going to hex him. Draco took Blaise by the upper arm and pulled him roughly to the far wall of the class so that he could keep an eye on the teachers, who looked as if they were about to break them up any minute now.

"Act scared, Zabini!" he ordered, glancing at Potter, who was staring at the two.

"Look, I'm sorry Draco," Blaise said quickly. "But I'm not changing my mind. Lord Voldemort is wrong, his ideals are wrong and his methods are as well. I believe that all people are equal. Muggle, Muggle born and Pureblood, and if this means that we can't be friends anymore than so be it, but I'm not switching sides." He said it in one big rush, not even pausing to take a breath.

"You memorized that didn't you?" Draco asked, his eyebrow rising in amusement.

"Yeah," Blaise admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly. "But I'm still not changing my mind," he added quickly.

"I'm not asking you too," said Draco. He suddenly smacked the wall with his open palm inches from Blaise's head. Blaise jumped, the Golden Trio stared, and McGonagall started making her way through the crowd of kids towards them.

"What are you doing?" asked Blaise, fear creeping into the edges of his voice.

Draco pulled Blaise closer and whispered in his ear. "I'm making sure the sodding Gryffindors accept you," he hissed. "Right now they think you are a spy, and if they think that, there is no way they will protect you when the rest of Slytherin stabs you in the back."

Blaise gulped. "What-?" he whispered, trying to pull away. Draco didn't let him.

"Did you honestly think that you could join without feeling the repercussions?" Draco whispered harshly, one eye on McGonagall's approach. "Right now you are seen as a traitor to your house and to your ancestors. If Potter and his lackeys don't accept you, you won't last this year because no one will protect you. So look scared, and when Potter asks, I was threatening your well-being. He has to realize that this is not some way for me to spy on him; he has to realize that you came of your own bloody morals. So look terrified."

Blaise stared at him, trying to work through the fact that Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune, rumored Death Eater, Slytherin sex icon and ice prince, was actually helping to protect him.

Draco hit the wall again, this time punching it with his fist. He turned to Blaise, his face twisted into a snarl of rage and Blaise jumped again, this time the fear apparent in his eyes.

"Go!" he snapped. Blaise whirled around, nearly running into McGonagall as she came up.

"Is there a problem here, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked, detaining him so that Blaise could escape.

He composed himself in a second flat, the snarl simply dropping off his face and his stormy eyes returning to frozen ice, but he didn't answer right away. He watched as Blaise hurried away from him, glancing back, more in confusion that fear, but the effect of terror was there. Potter immediately confronted him.

"Mr. Malfoy!" said McGonagall sharply. He had to admit that she was intimidating, but he watched until Potter smiled broadly, extended his hand, and shook Blaise's in a friendship Draco himself had been denied. Of course, Draco was a spoiled prat so it was probably a good thing Potter had refused it.

"Mr. Malfoy," said McGonagall, exasperation making her voice even more frightening, "is there a-,"

"No," he said smoothly. "No problem at all." He nodded to her and then regained his seat, watching as Blaise was met with handshakes and back-slaps all around with a sharp twinge of jealousy and loneliness.

Ironic, he thought. He could withstand being alone in his house (which was the size of a castle) for weeks on end without being lonely, but here in a room full of people, one fourth of whom fawned over him, and he felt that cold, hollow feeling he despised.

He couldn't help but notice that once the bloody do-gooders had determined that Blaise was not a threat, they began chatting as if they were old friends, their laughter and excited jabber reflecting a companionship that Draco would never have. Even without his prejudiced background and his social status that kept fickle friends close, he was still a genius, and that set him apart just like everything else. If he were to be honest with himself, he would realize that he would give almost anything to have friends like the Golden Trio, but he was a Slytherin, and Slytherins were rarely honest, even to themselves.

He mentally kicked himself for being so introspective and hardened his gaze, just in case anyone was watching. He leaned back in his chair, watching the students slowly filter out. He then turned his attention to the curvy figure of their student teacher, a first for his time at Hogwarts. She was in her early twenties, with her hair twisted back professionally and with modest robes on. She walked to the board once everyone had gone, preparing to pick up the sign up sheets.

"I haven't added my name yet," said Draco coolly.

"Oh," she said, stepping down. "I'm sorry."

There was silence; she broke it.

"Do you need more time?" she asked. "I can come back in the morning, if-."

"No,' said Draco. "I think I've got it."

He stood up slowly and studied the boards again, or at least, pretended to. He was actually studying the student professor, Ms. Claire Jameson. There was something about her that unnerved him, something he couldn't place, something he wasn't noticing. He may be paranoid, but look at her. If you put her in a different set of robes, added darker make-up and some fine jewelry, she would be down right stunning. She had perfect features and a figure most women would kill for and there was no way a stunning woman would degrade herself to just being pretty, unless she had an ulterior motive.

He walked to the board very deliberately and picked up the feather quill. He dipped it in ink and, in his perfect calligraphy, signed his name.

"The neutral side," said Claire Jameson. "I'm surprised."

Draco immediately recognized that voice; it was the way his mother talked to him. Narcissa had an edge to her voice, one developed from practicing the art of seduction, and even when she tried to talk normally, it still held that faint suggestive tone, which was extremely unnerving, especially seeing as it was his mother talking to him like that.

With Claire, he had almost missed it, but he was observant, and as he was familiar with the tone, he could identify it for what it was. She had drawn out the 'ise' in 'surprised', lending the work that seductive feeling. She was prying, prying and trying to sound natural.

He could put two and two together, but he also knew that in some cases simple addition wasn't enough. For now he could conclude that Claire wasn't as innocent as she appeared to be, and he could assume that she was used to seducing people for information. Her voice was stained with the inflections of a temptress, and it wasn't from just getting into the pants of one man. She was appointed this position by the Ministry and the Ministry held many Death Eaters. He could safely assume that she had been sent by them to spy.

Rule number four: "Know thy enemy," he said, laying down the quill and giving her a wink. "Know him well."

If she had known what he was capable of, she would have known it was a warning for her to watch out for him. He walked out, his name written at the very end of the neutral list, not noticing the red-haired professor in the darkest corner of the room. He wasn't supposed to.

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Bill had watched Draco Malfoy pull the Zabini boy aside, had watched Draco punch the wall and yell at Blaise, but he had seen something else. There was a moment when Draco had been staring at the group of Gryffindors that included Harry, Ron, Hermione and Blaise, and something in those grey eyes had changed. It was slight, but the storm-grey eyes had softened, or cleared or something because there was a glint of liquid mercury, and then the grey clouds had descended and turned into ice.

Bill was intrigued by Malfoy; he couldn't help it. He was a code all his own, complex, intricate, and Bill was a translator. Don't get him wrong, he liked his brother and his family and all, but they were so simple, so straightforward. It was part of the reason he was in a serious relationship with his girlfriend Fleur. She seemed like any other shallow French girl, but there was strength inside of her, a fire all her own. She had, after all, competed in the Triwizard Tournament, a fact most people forgot.

He had been slightly disappointed when Draco had told Claire he was joining the neutral side to 'know his enemy'. He had hoped it was because Draco was really trying to puzzle through things himself, but then again, Draco did grow up in a Death Eater family, so it was doubtful his mind would change.

Bill waited until Draco was gone and then left himself to go up to his room, but McGonagall found him in the hall.

"The Headmaster wishes to see you, Bill," she said. "He's in his office." She gave him a meaningful look, one that meant that this was serious, and Bill immediately knew why he was needed.

"Thank you, Professor," he said, giving her a nod and changing directions.

"It's Minerva!" the teacher called after him.

Bill hid a smile; it just felt so weird calling her that. He made his way to the Headmaster's office and spoke the password to the gargoyle. This month it was Ton-Tongue Toffee, props to his twin brothers. He ascended the stair case and knocked on the door.

"Come in!" he heard, and opened the door.

The Headmaster was sitting behind his desk, stroking his beard thoughtfully and Severus Snape sat in one of the overstuffed chintz armchairs in front of the desk looking ill-kempt and out of place.

"Have a seat Bill," said Dumbledore. "And would you like a lemon drop?"

"No, thank you," said Bill, sitting next to the Order's spy. "I take it that we are not here to discuss a new curriculum?"

Dumbledore gave a slight smile. "Unfortunately not. Severus has a grave report to bring." He turned to the Potions Master.

Snape shifted slightly, his piercing gaze lighting on Bill. "The Dark Lord knows there is a spy among his followers, and recently he has turned his attentions to me."

While Bill couldn't say he was fond of his old Potions Professor, he still held a great amount of respect for the man. He doubted he would return at Voldemort's call for he knew full well what his followers were subjected to.

"We planned for this," said Bill calmly. "That's why I'm here."

"I thought we would have more time than this," said Dumbledore, shaking his head, his light blue eyes losing their twinkle. "Bill, what you are about to do-,"

"I've practiced," said Bill. "We may never have this chance again."

It was true. Early that summer, Voldemort had become paranoid of spies and started sweeping through his ranks, sometimes killing first, and then asking the questions. Because the Ministry had appointed the DADA professor, and also the student teacher, it was apparent that it would be all too easy for a Death Eater to slip in unawares and not only spy on Dumbledore and Harry, but also Severus.

Dumbledore had devised a way to transfer part of Severus' mark onto Bill's arm. It was invisible, but Bill could feel the sharp fire when Voldemort called, and had spent the summer practicing Apparating with Severus, so that now he could appear right next to the spy wherever the Dark Lord called them. With an invisibility cloak, and a few potions to render him invisible to the senses of Nagini, the Order had a new spy, and Severus would not be seen contacting Dumbledore at any odd hours, or even coming into contact with McGonagall. Bill would then relay the message to another Order member working in the school, and that operative would then inform the rest of the Order. It was rather roundabout, but necessary.

"There is another thing," said Severus. "You were right, Headmaster. Tom did split his soul into seven parts. If he wishes to return to his full strength, then he must search them out."

"Horcruxes?" asked Bill, surprised, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

"It gets worse," said Severus. "There's one hidden somewhere in the school."

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Duh-duh-dun! Alright, for all of those who want to know, Bill will find out about Draco's secret in approximately 3 more chapters! Woot.


	5. Rule 4: Having friends is costly

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own the soup I am currently eating…yum!

As always, thanks to my reviewers. For those of you who have accounts, I reply directly to your reviews, for those who are anonymous, I reply to you now.

Gremlin: Thanks for the review, and here's the next chapter, and the next rule

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As always: thanks to my beta who catches all of those spelling/grammar errors, and gives me amazing suggestions, couldn't do it without you

Chapter 5

_Rule #4: Having friends is costly. Keep them only if you are unable to function without moral support._

Draco flopped face first down on his bed. It was the second Wednesday after school started and he had just spent and hour and a half in a room full of Death Eaters-to-be, and he just knew that his mind must have shriveled up within the first ten minutes. He wouldn't be surprised if he were as dumb as Potter now, having to sit through that. Basically the whole time had been spent crowing about how much better the purebloods were and how stupid the mudbloods were. As a neutral party it had been his job to listen to the debates, step in when confused, and counter the points if he spotted a weakness in their theories. Draco had spotted a weakness in their brains; they hadn't even started to discuss the marriage laws.

And speaking of the marriage laws, it's not like they were actually going to get passed. First of all, it went directly against Statute 8 of the Ministry of Magic's Charter. Secondly, if purebloods were forced to marry mudbloods, there would be Civil War. He really didn't see the point in even discussing them in their debate group, most likely the Against Pureblood Reign group thought they were stupid as well.

He rolled over and noticed an owl perched on his nightstand, its yellow eyes staring at him imperiously. He sighed, took the letter off of its leg, and read it.

_Draco,  
As I understand it, there is a new class for you this year, one where students have the opportunity to speak freely about such issues that have been taboo until now. Imagine my surprise when I hear that you have disregarded the opportunity to speak favorable about your lord, and instead have signed your name to a group made up of pureblood's who wallow in their cowardice and shrink away from the duty of joining their lord. Our lord was most distressed when a comrade brought this to his attention, and I was most ashamed at your actions, actions which will bring swift consequences if you do not satisfactorily explain your position. I expect your letter within the night, and do not forget that you shall join us in the summer.  
Your Father,  
Lucius S. Malfoy_

Draco sighed and closed his eyes. Yes, that would be Nott tattle-telling on him, and the swift consequences would be something like being kicked off the Quidditch team. His father had never given Draco physical punishments, not because Lucius didn't have the nerve to, but because Lucius did actually care for Draco. To be sure, it wasn't unconditional love, Lucius only had that for himself, money, and power, but somewhere, half way down on his father's list of priorities, he held affection for his only son.

Many people wouldn't believe that, but Draco had proof. His mind drifted back to the 'incident'. He had just turned thirteen, his father was away on business, and Narcissa was home, which was a surprise. It wasn't that his mother had deliberately meant to harm him, she was just dangerous in a neglectful, not-thinking-things-through way. She was having a party and having men over that week, and she wanted Draco out of the way. Normally, she would just lock him in his room or in a closet somewhere, this time…

Draco shook his head to clear it; those weren't the best memories. Basically Draco, through no fault of his own, had become addicted to one of his mother's illegal pleasure potions, which left him wasted and screaming for more. Lucius had brought him through rehab himself, holding him when the seizures racked his body and when Draco screamed and cursed at him, and even when Draco tried attacking him, as his body took control, needing more of the potion. It took two weeks for him to gain control back, and another month before he was fully recovered. And once he was, Draco saw his father hit his mother for the second and last time.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and felt a twinge in his temples which meant a migraine coming on, and no doubt this one would be worse than usual. The owl by his bed gave a sharp hoot, and he opened his eyes to glare at it, and then went to his desk to compose his reply, but he ended up glancing at the clock on his desk.

Blaise should have been back in the dorm by now. In fact, all of his dorm mates should have been back by now; he had only been a few minutes ahead of them as Warrington, a seventh year, had called Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott aside to discuss a strategy. Realization hit him like a speeding cart from Gringotts.

Muttering French curses under his breath, he grabbed his wand and cloak and ran out of the Slytherin dorms and up the stairs leading out of the dungeons. While on the move, he swung his blacker-than-black cloak behind him and fastened it around his neck. If he remembered correctly, which he had, the APR's (Against Pureblood Reign) were meeting in the Charm's room and if he was lucky, they wouldn't have let out yet, which would mean he could get to Blaise before the other Slytherins did. He wasn't in luck.

He could hear the door opening in the hall to the right and he immediately rounded the corner and pulled up short. He could see the three Slytherins lying in wait behind the pillars that lined the hall on each side and the class was spilling out of the lit room. That was the only light, and the students were laughing and joking as they entered the dark hall, never knowing of the danger that stalked the only Slytherin in their midst. He ducked behind his own pillar.

And Blaise literally was 'in their midst'. In fact, he was talking with the Golden Trio and they were all smiling widely. All of the students, except Blaise, continued down the hall, away from Draco and the other Slytherins.

"All right, see ya guys," Blaise called in farewell. He waved and watched them leave, then started making his way towards his own dormitory and towards his housemates, completely unaware of their presence. At least, unaware until they left their posts behind the pillars and began circling him, forcing him into the part of the hall that was lit with the light of the moon through an open window. Oh, they were stupid, Draco thought, watching as the attackers stepped into the large area of light as well. Not only were they easier to pick out this way, but if they had only kept Blaise in the light, he would not be able to see them in the shadows, making it that much more of a frightening experience.

Draco did not step in when the first punch was thrown, nor the second. He waited. He waited after the sixth and seventh punch, and waited after the third kick. When Blaise fell, that's when he stepped out, his footsteps echoing harshly along the hall. Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle froze.

"Well, well, well," he drawled in a cold voice. He came up to the moonlit patch, stopped short of it, and stared at the three. "Look who forgot to invite me to the party."

"We didn't forget," said another voice, coming from behind Nott. Three more figures stepped out, Warrington, Heckert, and Carangi, all seventh year Slytherins. "You weren't invited," Warrington continued.

Draco stepped closer, allowing the light to fall onto him. The blue light caused his hair to glimmer silver, his skin to shine, his eyes to seemingly glow and the rest of him was covered by his black cloak; he knew he cut an imposing figure.

"And why not?" he asked, his tone deceptively light.

"Maybe we don't agree with your way of handling it," said Warrington. "Maybe we think you're being too soft on him."

"You think now?" asked Draco. "Always a time for firsts, I suppose."

Carangi growled and Heckert clenched his fist. Warrington stepped forward so that Draco, who was a few inches shorter than him and a whole lot thinner, was staring at his chin.

"Listen here, Malfoy," he spat. "You have done nothing about the blood traitor, so we took matters into our own hands since you didn't dare do anything."

Blaise groaned on the ground and shifted slightly, staring up at the boys.

"Draco?" he whispered through swollen, bleeding lips.

"Ah," said Warrington. "I see how it is. You don't have the stomach to actually hurt a friend, now do you? Not even when he deserves it!"

"He doesn't deserve it," said Draco, his mind whirling. There was no way he could take on the six of them. He was a good duelist, a superb duelist in fact, and if they had been any other students, he would have taken them on. However these were Slytherin's most dangerous, and the curses they used would be dark and bordering on illegal. If Draco was even hit once, he would be disabled, and then his unwillingness to harm Blaise would be revealed and he would be seen as a traitor as well. He needed a way so he could get them disarmed willingly.

His active mind was spouting probabilities and hypothetical situations and it took only a split second for him to know what to do. He looked Warrington in the eye and said calmly, "I asked him to join the other group."

The Slytherins gaped at him.

"You what?" Warrington demanded. "You're a blood traitor too!"

Draco laughed, hollowly and cynically. "Me," he said. "A blood traitor?" He reached up and yanked on Warrington's robes bringing his face down to eye level with him. "Never insult me like that again, got it, Richard?" he asked. With a sharp twist and a yank, Warrington went smashing brutally into a wall, the wand in his hand dropping to the floor.

Draco knelt down beside Blaise and pulled him up, staggering with the weight of the other boy. He turned to leave but pretended to stumble again and the other boy's head connected with the pillar and with a muffled cry, the boy passed out. "Sorry, Blaise," Draco whispered, setting the boy down. "But you can't see this."

He whirled on the other boys. "I told you not to do anything. I told you to ignore him. I told you to mock him, to taunt him, to isolate him, nothing more! He is my spy on Potter, and you, all of you, are interfering with the Dark Lord's work." His face was set in an unforgiving scowl and his eyes blazed.

"We're, we're sorry, Malfoy," said Crabbe, stuttering in fear.

"Oh, you're sorry are you?" Draco demanded. He made a show of stopping himself from hexing him, and then turned his back on them, keeping an eye on the reflections in the window across the hall, seeing if they would take the opportunity to stab him in the back. They didn't, and Draco knew that his plan might actually work.

"You will have to be punished," said Draco. "I want you to leave your wands on the floor and enter the Charms room. I will lock it behind you and when you are let out the next morning you will tell Professor Flitwick that you were vandalizing the room because of the filthy mudbloods who were meeting there. He will take you to Snape who will give you a few detentions, and this matter will be forgotten. Do you understand?"

"We're not yours to punish," Warrington spat from where he lay on the ground. "You have no-,"

He whirled around the older boy. "Would you rather I told the Dark Lord the next time I am called for a report that my plans were ruined because my commands were not followed?" Draco asked coldly. "Because I assure you, he will not be pleased."

"He wouldn't care. We thought we were in the right!" Carangi exclaimed sounding panicked.

Draco laughed again, a chilling laugh as freezing as his steely eyes. "Do you really think the Dark Lord will care for your petty excuses? I am the Prince of Slytherin and my commands are to be obeyed. Do you know what the Dark Lord's punishment for disobedience is? Hmm, Carangi?"

"The-the Cruciatus," the boy whispered.

"That's right. Now if you like, I can give you a quick crucio now and have it done with, of course I'd have to silencio you, so no one could hear your screams."

"You wouldn't," said Warrington, though he didn't sound so sure of himself.

"I would," said Draco. "I've been able to perform that curse since I was twelve. I have no qualms. Now, I thought I was being generous by locking you in the room, but if you think not, I'll tell the Dark-,"

"No!" said Carangi. "We'll go. Come on Heckert, Crabbe, Goyle, let's go. Nott, you too."

"Leave your wands on the floor," Draco reminded them as they hurried into the classroom. Five wands were surrendered and Draco turned to Warrington, who glared but grudgingly got to his feet and stalked into the classroom, chucking his wand on the floor by the door.

Draco walked to the room, scooping up Warrington's wand as he surveyed the six Slytherins. "Stupefy," he said calmly at Warrington, who crumpled. By the time the others responded, Nott and Carangi were out as well. Heckert, Crabbe and Goyle had no chance at reaching him and soon they joined their classmates in unconsciousness. He then shot a few blasting hexes at the walls, making the chalkboards tumble down. He also shot a writing hex so that the word 'mudblood' was scrawled on the wall. Then Draco turned to the unconscious students, concentrated hard on the past half hour and then on nothing, and whispered "Obliviate."

Memory charms were extremely hard, especially on a group of people, and genius though he may be, Draco was exhausted at the end. He kicked in the wands the boys had dropped, still holding onto Warrington's, then shut and locked the door with a charm that couldn't be opened by 'alohamora'. Finally, he slid Warrington's wand under the door. Now, if his wand was tested, he would have no link to the 'obliviate' or the trashed room.

Draco pulled out his own wand, levitated Blaise, and cast a camouflage charm on the both of them. He brought Blaise back to the dorm, and once the door was shut, he took off the charm and placed Blaise on his bed.

His friend's face was quite a work, with a broken nose, a black eye, fat lips, and a scrape on the cheek. Draco pulled off Blaise's shirt, pleased to note that none of the ribs were broken, only bruised. Draco had read a book once on healing, three years ago. Although he didn't quite remember every word, he came close, and immediately began healing the boy, though he left the bruises on his face. Blaise woke up to the damp cloth on his forehead.

"Draco? That you?" he asked.

"Yes," said Draco.

"What happened?" Blaise asked.

"I beat you up," said Draco.

"What?" Blaise asked, trying to sit up, but Draco pushed him back down.

"That is all you need to know. Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle along with Warrington, Carangi, and Heckert trashed the Charm's room and you heard them so you locked them inside. You came back here, and I beat you up because you are a blood traitor. That is what you tell the other Slytherins; that is all you need to know. Got that?"

"But you didn't-,"

"I did," said Draco firmly. "If you don't believe me, I will obliviate you."

Blaise stared at him then nodded. Draco gave his face one more swipe and then cleaned up, drawing the curtains around Blaise's bed.

He then went to his desk and sat down, burying his face in his hands. He was exhausted, and the migraine that had started was now a blazing fire in his head. The owl his father had sent hooted loudly, and Draco remembered the letter. Fighting off the blurry vision and the throbbing behind his eyes, he pulled out a parchment and wrote his reply.

_Father,  
You understand correctly, there is a debate class this year. No doubt the student responsible for sending you such distressing news was not blessed with a brain capable of understanding my reasons of joining said mentioned group, which are, I assure, quite satisfactory. While functioning under the guise as a member of the neutral party, I am given access to the faction that opposes the Dark Lord, and have then ample opportunity to support him by listening in on the other side's strategies and their main points for debate. If you believe that this information is not important, I shall immediately join the group that supports the Dark Lord. Until then, know that I have not renounced him.  
Your son,  
Draco L. Malfoy_

After giving the owl the letter and letting it out the window, Draco collapsed on his own bed, feeling that he didn't have the energy to cast the usual lighting and silence spells around his bed. He was a slight insomniac, and so usually stayed up late studying or researching, and the charms allowed his roommates to sleep unaffected by whatever light and sound might be coming from his bed, but it also helped him as well. When Draco did sleep, which was somewhere around four hours a night, he was a notoriously light sleeper, and the charms allowed him to sleep through the occasional grunt or snore.

He managed to sit up and pull the curtains shut around his bed, and aimed a spell so that the light turned off, but even that left the room spinning and his vision doubling. Memory spells with another person's wand was never advisable, not to mention he was slightly rusting on healing charms as well.

Rule number four: Having friends is costly. Keep them only if you are unable to function without moral support.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but between the pounding of his head, and the thoughts that never ceased racing through his mind, sleep didn't come. He bit back a moan and increased the lighting around his bed, then slipped out to grab the book on the Cretin dialect Bill had given to him, and lay back on his covers, quill and journal in hand. He already knew the Cretin dialect, but there were other codes in the book as well. What was most interesting were the notes Bill had written in the margins, relating one language to the other, or writing out the translations in between the lines.

The notes kept referring back to the Syrian dialect, the most complex translated dialect yet, one that was only touched on briefly in the NEWT's course. It was the one his professor over the summer had given him without the key to see if he could translate. He had needed a little help on some parts, but he had done it. Bill's notes referred to the dialect, seemingly explaining to himself the similarities between the Syrian dialect and three others, and then showing how they fit together.

It was absolutely brilliant work, and Draco was impressed. Bill was obviously very knowledgeable in the field of Ancient Runes, although he made one error in his translations. He had used the singular form of a verb when it should have been the plural, a mistake easy to make, because verbs in English just had time related tenses and not plural and singular forms as well.

Without consciously thinking of it, he crossed out the wrong word, and wrote the correct form in. He then stared, realizing what he had done. He tried to erase the word, but a glance at the bottle of ink he was using showed it was indelible ink and wouldn't disappear, which just went to show that geniuses were capable of making stupid mistakes as well. He turned the page and continued reading, hoping Bill didn't use the book too often. He read until the early hours of the morning, the words growing blurrier and blurrier, until he slowly drifted off to sleep.

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Bill staggered back from the Death Eater meeting, sickened at what he saw and completely exhausted from the two hours spent cringing every time one of the masked men looked his way. He went through the secret passage in the back of the castle, whispering the password Dumbledore had given him, and entering the safety of the school. He left the invisibility cloak on until he reached his rooms and then changed his clothing into soft pants and shirt and a thick pair of socks. He then collapsed in an armchair with a tumbler full of firewhiskey.

Once his mind had stopped spinning and reeling from the show of absolute hatred and brutality, he got down to work. He could not send the message to the Order's operative by owl, but he would put it in code. When he finally drifted off he was still sitting in the chair.

The next morning he was met by a harassed Minerva McGonagall.

"Bill, I need your help. Did you here about what happened last night?"

"No," said Bill. "I was…"

She nodded in understanding. "Well, it seems that six Slytherins went into the Charm's classroom to wreck it because of the APR meeting in there."

"APR?" asked Bill, his mind working a little slow because of the rough night.

"Against Pureblood Reign group," said McGonagall. "But Blaise Zabini heard a noise, and when he went to investigate, he saw them wrecking the room and locked the door on them, however when he went down to the Slytherin dormitories, he was accosted by Mr. Malfoy because he had joined the Against side. I need you to see what you can get out of Malfoy and Zabini while I see to the other six. See if you can get Blaise or Malfoy to talk."

"Why do I need to get them to talk?" asked Bill.

"Because Mr. Zabini isn't telling anyone what happened last night," said McGonagall.

"I thought you said that Draco beat him up," said Bill. "How could you know if they aren't saying anything?"

"All the Slytherins are talking about it, and saying that Blaise told them that, but when teachers got involved, he clammed up. Normally Severus would handle this, but he's indisposed."

Bill nodded. The spy had been subjected to a few, rather nasty crucios and wouldn't be teaching classes today. The cover story was that he was ill.

"I'll go," said Bill. "Where are they?"

"In my room, but I have a class in an hour."

"They'll be out by then," said Bill, he had his own class to teach then too. He walked down to the Transfigurations classroom and heard a raised voice.

"I'm not going to tell them that, Drake!"

That was obviously the Zabini boy, and Bill pushed open the door to see Blaise standing in front of Draco, his fists clenched and face red from yelling. Well, red and also black and blue from the fight last night. Draco was sitting composedly in his chair, his face impassive and unreadable. Both boys turned to Bill when he entered.

"Yes?" asked Draco. "Do you need something?" He raised an eyebrow at Bill, his tone clearly informing Bill that he was interrupting something and should leave. It was same voice his parents used on Ron when he was interrupting their conversation about the Order.

"McGonagall asked me to talk to you," said Bill. "She tells me there was a fight?" He made it a question to see if they would deny it.

"Go talk then," said Draco, gesturing to the teacher's desk.

Bill studied the boy. He knew what Draco was doing; it was actually rather clever. If Bill did go up to the teacher's desk, like any other teacher would, he would be in a position of authority, but by following Draco's 'suggestion' he would cede that authority to Draco, who had ordered him there in the first place.

Bill, very deliberately, sat in the desk behind Draco, and Blaise straddled a chair to face him. Bill waited to see what Draco would do. Draco couldn't remain with his back to Bill but if he faced him, he would be responding to Bill's actions, showing that the Professor was indeed in control, not himself. Draco slowly turned around, and Bill was face to face with grey eyes that were carefully guarded, but the storm was apparent behind the ice.

"So," he said, breaking the tension. "Either of you boys want to talk?"

There was silence. Draco's eyes flickered once to the side, but he couldn't see the other boy so he brought his attention back to Bill. Bill could tell he wasn't going to talk, and neither was Blaise, at least not when Draco was in the room.

"Draco, you can go to class," said Bill calmly.

"What!"

"To class," said Bill, ignoring the tone of incredulity. The kid was obviously not used to being ordered about.

Draco glared at Bill, before standing abruptly and storming out of the room. Bill watched him leave, making sure the door was shut before turning back to Blaise.

"So, you were at the APR meeting last night," said Bill.

"Right," said Blaise.

"But when you were walking back you heard a noise."

"Yes," said Blaise. "I followed Nott and the rest back to the Charm's classroom, saw that they were wrecking the room, and shut the door and locked them in."

"So you heard them going into the room," said Bill.

"Yes," said Blaise.

"And you saw them messing up the room."

"Yes."

"And you locked them in."

"Yes."

"And Draco didn't beat you up."

"Yes," said Blaise. "I mean no, I mean, what was the question?"

Bill leaned back in his chair, thinking very hard. He had taken one look at Blaise's face, which was black and blue, and one look at Draco's face which was not marked at all, and decided there was no way Draco had done all that by himself. Of course, he could have used a charm to petrify Blaise, but Bill had gone out on a limb. For some reason, he just couldn't see Draco being that cruel, and his suspicions had proven correct.

"So, Draco didn't beat you up," said Bill again.

Blaise looked down, squirming uncomfortably.

"I won't tell anyone," said Bill. "Promise."

Blaise was silent for a moment, then looked at Bill. "It wasn't Draco," he said.

"I see," said Bill. "Why are you saying that it was him then?"

Blaise hesitated again. "Draco told me to," he admitted finally. "But I can't tell you anything else."

Bill knew he wasn't going to get anything else from the boy, so he nodded. "Alright, thank you Blaise. You can go to class now."

The boy practically ran out of the room, leaving Bill sitting at the desk deep in thought. Draco was indeed an enigma, saying that he was responsible for the attack when he wasn't. And why would Blaise go along with it? Draco must have done something for him, perhaps stopping the true attackers?

Bill sighed and pushed the thoughts from his mind; he had an operative to inform of the Death Eater meeting.

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Two more chapters before Bill finds out about Draco! Read and Review and Let me know what you think.


	6. Rule 5, revised: Late night

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters in the books. I do however, own the cool microwave I just bought for my dorm room.

As always, thanks to my reviewers. If you left a signed reveiw, I replied to you personally, if you are anonymous, I replied right here.

Gremlin: Awwww, thank you so much. And thanks for dropping a reveiw, I really appreciate it.

Rachel: heh heh, actually I'm going for the quick update rather than legnth of the chapters, but there will be some longer chapters out there, just not today

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Chapter 6

_Rule #5: After a late night spent saving friends and doing other things that should be left for those who actually enjoy doing heroic deeds (i.e. Potter), make sure that the following day can be spent doing nothing but recuperating from said activities. If that is not possible, make sure that one perishes doing said heroic deeds so that the following day is not spent prying one's eyes open._

_Rule #5, revised: Late night activities cause a lack of awareness. Use only when necessary._

Draco sat outside in the courtyard, skipping lunch because he still had a slight migraine from last night and it was making him nauseas. Granted the bright sun wasn't helping his headache either, but it was helping him think things through. It was easier to think of Voldemort in the sun, because the brightness chased away any dark feelings, and because he somehow imagined that Voldemort would disintegrate in the sun, like a vampire.

He sighed. A year ago he had been a diehard Slytherin where the only thing that mattered had been his own security and comfort, and although he knew that Voldemort was on the rise, he had ignored it the best he could, burying the Dark Lord under physics equations and new potions. However, a year ago he hadn't been told he was getting the Dark Mark.

A year ago he had believed that the Order was only a group of eager-to-die martyrs; why else would they choose a battle they couldn't possibly win? Now he realized that perhaps they just wanted the opportunity to choose their own lives like he did, although he figured people like Dumbledore were just self-actualized.

Draco didn't really believe in self-actualization, the theory that one is not fulfilling their potential unless they are doing the thing they were born to do. He figured people could do what ever they damned well pleased; he just wasn't going to be a Death Eater.

He vaguely wondered if he was on his way to being self-actualized by refusing to be a Death Eater, but he had always thought of self-actualized people as the all-knowing type, aka, Dumbledore. If Draco were truly self-actualized, he would know the meaning of life and if it were worth living and what it was _really_ all about.

"The damn Hokey-Pokey," he muttered blandly. Those near him in the courtyard outside gave him odd looks. He just glared, slightly unnerved that he had just referenced a Muggle dance, but then again he had just referenced a Muggle psychology theory, but at least he had an excuse for the psychology because it was educational.

He refused to go back to the For Pureblood Reign group; it was a waste of time and they were so bloody stupid he had felt like murdering them all with an Avada right there. Either that or he would be forced to kill himself before insanity struck, and he knew it would strike. One Wednesday down and he was only kept sane because he had brewed potions in his head and found objects to write physics equations on.

He sighed again and leaned back against the stone wall, tilting his face up to the sun. He was going to get sunburned, but right then he didn't care. He closed his eyes against the rays that were so bright that the inside of his eyelids were red.

He was still exhausted from last night's activities in saving Blaise and then making sure no one else knew what had happened. Why couldn't have McGonagall or Snape been the one to deal with him? He didn't like that Weasley professor.

Alright, perhaps that wasn't fair, because Bill had been the only teacher in the history of Hogwarts who actually treated him like everyone else. The other teachers tried of course, but there was always an undercurrent of fear, or in McGonagall's case, an undercurrent of disgust. But Bill, he was perceptive, and he wasn't prejudiced, or if he was, then he was doing a damn good job of not showing it.

There was a commotion as the students started to file back in for classes, and Draco wearily made his way up to NEWT Transfiguration. He kept himself awake by reviewing potions in his head; even then, there were a few moments when his eyes drifted shut, and his head began to droop forward, only to have him jerk back awake.

Rule number five: After a late night spent saving friends and doing other things that should be left for those who actually enjoy doing heroic deeds (i.e. Potter), make sure that the following day can be spent doing nothing but recuperating from said activities. If that is not possible, make sure that one perishes doing said heroic deeds so that the following day is not spent prying one's eyes open.

Draco frowned. That really was a tad lengthy. Very well then.

Rule number five, revised: Late night activities cause a lack of awareness. Use only when necessary.

Draco couldn't have been more relieved when class was over, and made his way down to the Ancient Runes class wondering what Bill's rule on sleeping in class was. With his rules, perhaps it was something like 'no sleeping in class, unless you promise not to snore'. But then again, Bill had been the one to interrogate him and Blaise that morning, so perhaps it would be best not to get on his bad side.

Draco slid into his seat next to Granger rethinking that statement. The whole trouble was that Bill didn't think that he was a bad kid, so maybe he should sleep in class, so that Bill would think that he had beaten up Blaise and write him off as a troublemaker and leave it at that.

Class started and Draco found that it was much easier to stay awake when in a class that he actually enjoyed. He found his foot tapping again as he stared at the worksheet Bill had handed out to be worked on individually and his right hand was drumming lightly on the desk as his left wrote in the answers. Bill stopped at each student's desk to answer questions, and Draco saw the hidden smile as Bill came to his.

"Hyperactive much, Draco?" Bill asked in a whisper, crouching by his desk and gesturing to his tapping fingers.

Draco shrugged it off. "Helps me concentrate," he said.

"Any questions on the sheet?"

"Just this one," Draco lied easily. He pointed to a blank he had skipped over. "I don't know if it should be singular or plural."

"It relates to the subject, not the direct object," said Bill. "That's why you are getting confused. You're over thinking it."

"Oh," said Draco, as if he understood now and filled the blank in.

"You got it," said Bill. "Good job." And the Professor moved on to the next student and Draco was left wondering if he had gotten so few encouraging remarks in his life that he should feel that good about a word of praise from a Weasley.

He shook his head and glanced up at the board to see what they would be doing for the rest of the class period. Bill always wrote the instructions in the fourth Greek dialect but this time, there was a difference. It was slight, and almost unnoticeable, but there all the same. Draco frowned at the board, not being able to pinpoint the exact change.

Bill called the student's attention and began lecturing. Draco took out parchment as Bill began writing notes on the board and pretended to write them down, but he was actually thinking back to last Tuesday and the instructions written on the board then. Draco didn't have photographic memory; but his memory was just as sharp, if not better, because photographic memory was just in pictures and still frames.

Draco could recall gestures people made, and inflections in their voices. While Lucius could tell you exactly what someone was wearing a month ago at what party, Draco could tell you what they wore, who they talked to, what they ate or drank, and whether or not they wanted to be there. If he heard them, he could recall exactly what they said, give or take a few words. So although Draco couldn't recall the exact wording of the message, he reviewed the entire last lesson, especially the parts when Bill referred back to the board and the instructions he had written and came to the correct conclusion that there was something indeed different about Bill's set of instructions.

He stumbled over the difference almost by accident. He was reaching in his bag to get out another sheet of parchment, having doodled all over his first trying to find the difference, when his hand brushed against the book Bill had given him. Immediately he remembered the Syrian dialect, where all of the adjectives went before the noun, and that's when he understood.

In the fourth Greek dialect, the adjectives of a plural noun went before the noun, and the adjectives of a single noun went afterwards. Bill had switched a couple, no, more than a couple, a very large amount. He copied down the instructions on the board to look it over more carefully without drawing suspicion. It was a code; he was sure of it. Bill never made mistakes, at least not this many in a row, so it must be on purpose, but why?

Draco was so wrapped up in the anomalies in front of him that he barely noticed the rest of the lecture. When class was finally dismissed, Draco lagged behind to see if anyone else was coming in who could read the message, but while putting his books away (very slowly) he saw Bill erasing the board, quite thoroughly as well.

Draco left the class deep in thought and headed straight back to his dorm to see if he could figure out the code, but the harder he studied it, the more confused he became. However, the more confused he became, the more certain he was that these errors were done on purpose. But who was Bill contacting, and why?

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Bill erased the board as his class filtered out, making sure that the area that held the instructions for the advanced class was thoroughly wiped clear. Once done, he sank back into his teacher's chair.

He had been so certain of that code in the beginning, and yet when he had placed it up, it had felt as if it were screaming its hidden message out loud. It was all Bill could do not to turn around and check it every three seconds.

No matter. It was done now, and Tonks was no doubt translating the code right now. She would then put it in an essay and hand it in to McGonagall. Yes, his work was done. Until _he_ called again that is.

Bill sighed and rubbed a tired hand over his face. He needed a stiff drink; perhaps he should go see Hagrid. Yes, that was a very good idea.

Bill got up and dropped his papers off at his desk in the teacher's lounge, his eye lighting a moment on the student files on top of the surface, but he moved on. He doubted he could concentrate on the Quidditch World Cup at this moment, and he could feel a few very premature grey hairs start poking out of his scalp.

He headed down the corridor, then stopped short when he spotted the DADA Professor slip down a flight of stairs, looking nervously over his shoulder as he did so, though he didn't spot Bill.

Bill frowned and then followed. This staircase led into the lower corridors of the school where there were hardly any classes down here, save Potions. Stevick began throwing open doors and ducking down hallways as if searching for something. Bill continued following, though he hoped the Professor knew where he was going because he doubted he could find his own way back.

Stevick seemed to grow more frustrated with each passing moment and with each classroom that was empty, save the dust and spiders that occupied the desks. Muttering under his breath, the man turned down yet another corridor and Bill wondered if he should try to find his own way back. He was just considering this when Stevick pulled up sharply and Bill had to duck into a doorway to avoid being seen.

Claire Jameson was in the hallway, bending down to pick up her papers that she had dropped. Her bag was split open at the seams, the obvious cause of the accident.

"Oh, Miss Jameson," said Stevick, trying to control and extinguish the frustration he had felt for the past fifteen minutes, and pretending that he was meant to be down in the dungeons. "I was looking for you; we have a meeting now."

"Now?" asked Claire, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "I thought that was tomorrow, wasn't it?"

"Yes, well, you see," Stevick spluttered, casting around for an answer. "I can't do it tomorrow. I have an…engagement."

"I see," said Claire, finally managing to gather all of her work and standing. "Where at?"

"Somewhere a little more private," said Stevick. "I know why you're here, of course."

Claire looked confused. "I was filling in for Professor Snape," she said. "The Potions classroom is right there."

She pointed down the hall, and immediately Bill realized where they were, a good thing to because he wouldn't have found his way out for another week without that tidbit.

"Of course you were," said Stevick. "Let's go, shall we?"

He led Claire away, not even helping her carrying her things, though her arms were full to bursting. Bill stayed behind, partly because he didn't want to be seen just then, and partly because he needed to work out Stevick's strange actions and conversation.

He left ten minutes later to Hagrid's hut, and found the Golden Trio there drinking tea with the half giant.

"'ello, Bill," said Hagrid warmly, letting Bill inside where Fang immediately drooled on him. "Would you like some tea?"

Knowing that Hagrid's tea was strong, and that he wanted his brain clear to work out the Stevick situation, Bill nodded and took a seat next to his brother.

"So what's wrong with Snape?" asked Harry, eagerly.

"Pr'fesser Snape, 'arry," Hagrid reminded the boy, placing a mug of tea in front of Bill.

"Far as I know he's ill," said Bill, shrugging.

"So it's not something to do with Voldemort, is it?" asked Hermione leaning forward a little.

"Far as I know, you three aren't in the Order yet," said Bill, taking a sip of the scalding liquid and closing his eyes in appreciation. He opened them again when Hermione continued.

"I'll be seventeen in a few days," she said. "And then I'll have clearance, won't I?"

Bill sighed. Hermione's birthday had been a great source of debate among the Order, because they all knew that once Hermione knew, she would tell Harry and Ron all she learned.

"Well, you'll have to wait a few more days then," said Bill.

That was part of the reason the entire Order didn't know about Bill's spying job, so that they could keep that information away from the teenagers. It was just a little too dangerous to let the three know, dangerous for him and dangerous for them.

"Who cares if he's sick or not," said Ron. "I only hope he's out Friday as well. Personally, I'm jealous that Ginny got the Snape-free Potions class. She said that Slytherin got marked off fifty points because they were misbehaving. I would love to see Malfoy's face in a Potions class like that!"

Bill smiled ruefully. Yes, there was no love lost between his family and 'that Malfoy boy' as his mother put it.

"Well, we should go now," said Hermione, standing up. "We have an essay to do for Potions tomorrow and I would rather not get marked off if Snape is there for class."

The boys groaned, but followed Hermione. Hagrid pulled out a bottle of very old whiskey from his cupboard.

"I assume you came here for this, Bill?" he asked.

Bill broke into a grin. "That would be perfect Hagrid," he said.

Once they were settled down by the fire with their glasses of whiskey Bill turned to the gameskeeper. "So, what do you think of Stevick?" he asked.

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So, drop a review and let me know what you think, oh yeah, and Bill finds out about Draco in two more chapters!


	7. Rule 6: Never take action directly

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am however the owner of a new refrigerator, also for my dorm room.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: For those of you who know how to count and caught the fact that I said "two more chapters 'til Bill finds out" twice in two separate chapters, yes, I miscounted, and forgot to explain to you all that it would be more. But, you can be assured that in the NEXT chapter, Bill will find out Draco's secret.

Silfion: I'm glad that you like my portrayal of Bill. I've always liked him because there is so much not said about him. Thanks for dropping the review!

DD: Nice catch, the runes/ruins. When I wrote the first chapter I was always making that mistake and I'm glad that you caught that one. Thanks for reviewing.

Gremlin: I explained a bit about Bill's spying activities in chapter four, the second part, but more will be discussed in future chapters. Thank you for your review.

Slytherin Smirk: Thank you!

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Chapter Seven

_Rule #6: Never take action directly. Wait and see how things play out before making your move._

"Right here you can see the main difference between the two dialects," said Bill, circling the two runes with the chalk and stepping back from the board so that the students could see. "It's not a language difference though. Can anyone tell me what it is?"

Draco resisted the urge to groan as the bushy-haired girl next to him shot her hand up. As hers was the only hand raised, Bill called on her.

It was mid-November now, and Draco still couldn't make heads or tails out of the code Bill had out on the board and he knew that he wasn't being paranoid, because counting the instructions today, the anomalies had been present a total of seven times.

"It's not a language difference," said Hermione clearly, "it's a writing difference. As the Romans were used to a different form of writing from the hieroglyphics used by the ancient Egyptians, when they attempted to copy the glyphs they tended to make them more uniform and much simpler than the originals. Because of this difference they were thought of as two different dialects until 1935. Although both say the same thing, many agree that in the latter version much of the artistry has been lost in translation."

"Very good," said Bill, impressed. "Five points to Gryffindor. Now if you look here…"

Draco didn't look; he was staring at the code he had copied down on his parchment. He had learned two things.

One: the appearance of the code corresponded directly with Snape being called by Voldemort. He knew because the day after Snape wouldn't be in class, or if he was, he looked particularly strained. Those were the days that Snape lashed out at the Gryffindors and the days that Snape's gaze would rest on him more frequently, but Draco had no clue what he was thinking.

Two: Bill was contacting someone in the class. It had to be because Bill always erased the boards thoroughly and the chalkboards at Hogwarts were resistance to charms that would re-write what had been written last on them.

Draco was a genius, and quickly figured that he must be contacting the sixth year Ravenclaw girl who had been home-schooled. At first he thought it was Granger, but after careful observation realized that she was completely oblivious to the code. He then figured that as no self-respecting Order member would endanger the life of a child, the girl must be under poly-juice, or must be his estranged cousin Tonks.

He bet on the latter as he couldn't see any flask of Poly-juice concealed on the girl, Amanda Michaels, and after checking the Ministry records he found that Tonks was on leave of absence from the Ministry.

"Please write this down," said Bill, now picking up the chalk again and beginning to write on the board.

Draco looked at his parchment and realized that it was completely full of mindless scribbles. He bent down to get a new piece from his bag and winced as he felt his wrenched shoulder stretch too far.

Warrington, the Slytherin Quidditch Captain, had forced practice after practice on his team preparing for the Gryffindor-Slytherin match this Saturday. He was particularly demanding of Draco, keeping him out an hour or two past the usual practices, grilling him on such moves as the Wronski feint (which is how he slammed his shoulder), or making him pull barrel roll after front-end-flip until Draco couldn't tell which direction was up or down.

Warrington didn't like Draco, even though the seventh year didn't remember the incident with Blaise, and he took pleasure out of tormenting the Prince of Slytherin. Warrington couldn't get rid of Draco, though he had the power to. Draco was the next best flyer in the school, second only to Potter, and although Potter continually beat Draco to the Snitch, Draco in turn beat everyone else. So Warrington settled for making Draco's life miserable, and Draco was starting to dread practices.

"This is important," said Bill. "It will be on the test."

Draco wrote it down, even though it wasn't necessary. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy Quidditch; he actually loved it. He even loved the fact that he wasn't the best. This was something that he needed to work at, and practice constantly. He loved the competition and the strain of trying to get on top. It was challenging, and he didn't get challenging very often, not even in his school work. It was just that it took so much bloody time, time that could be spent figuring out that damned code.

He had done everything he could think of to break it, from math based codes, to searching through the green book Bill had given him for a clue. He had found nothing.

"Alright," said Bill. "That's it. Au revoir. Je vous verrai tout au jeu samedi."

Draco jerked his head up at the bit of French, knowing instantly what it meant. _Goodbye. I will see you all at the game on Saturday_. Draco spoke French fluently, as he was born in Paris and raised along the French Riviera. He learned English at six, and finally moving to England at the age of eight with his parents where he perfected his second language. So why was Bill speaking French?

The other students stared as well and Bill gave a laugh. "I'm learning French so I can surprise my girlfriend. She's coming to visit me over Christmas break."

The girls 'awww'ed and the boys cat called, and Draco shook his head, pulling out the green book to return to the teacher. His accent was terrible.

"Here's your book," said Draco, approaching him once the class had filtered out. He glanced once more at the instructions on the board, and suddenly it hit him. He stared. It couldn't be that simple, could it? He knew it could, sometimes the most difficult things were incredibly easy, but why hadn't he seen it? He knew why. Bill was British and so Draco had expected the code to be put into English, not French. His gaze swept over the announcement, pulling out the anomalies and translating them as he went.

"Thanks," said Bill, taking the book from his outstretched hand, then waving a hand in front of Draco's eyes. "Hey, Draco?"

Draco started, pulling his eyes away from the board and onto Bill's face. He hadn't been able to translate much, but what he had seen did not look innocent at all.

He glanced back at the board, Bill following his line of vision. Draco mentally swore and schooled his face into one of disinterest. He saw Bill pale and whip back to Draco, but by then his expression had changed to one of normalcy and Bill stared for a moment.

"You alright, Draco? You were staring off for a moment," said Bill, his eyes searching Draco's face for any sign that he had seen something.

"Yeah, I'm fine," said Draco. "I just zoned out for a moment; I'm kind of tired."

"Better get some rest then," said Bill easily. "You have a big game in two days so don't study too hard."

"Never," said Draco, shouldering his bag.

"Well, good-bye Draco."

"Au revoir," said Draco, watching Bill, but not seeing any indication that the French meant something. He was a good actor, but Draco was a genius and had grown up with parents whose entire life outside of the house was one big act. Bill was up to some thing, and he was going to find out what it was.

He went straight back to his dorm, grabbing all of the codes he had copied down, and jumping onto his neatly made bed. He pulled the hangings closed and spread out all of the announcements he had copied down. He could see the code now. He took the first letter of every adjective that was out of place and wrote it down. Then he read the message backwards.

In short, Bill's code was ingenious. The sentences that formed out of the first letters of the misplaced adjectives were in French so that someone who did notice something weird about the adjectives wouldn't notice any familiar letter combinations and finally the message was backwards, so that the few letter combinations that were similar in French and English wouldn't be noticeable.

Draco quickly worked through the translations starting at the first ones and working his way up until the most recent ones. He read them quickly, his mind trying to grasp at what he read.

R suspects S but no proof. Spy in Hogwarts.

Attack at Ministry possible. No more info.

Attack called off in favor for something else, meet at usual time, place.

M suspects S, no proof though M might get some. Watch out for spy.

MacNair killed. S in the clear for now.

R not revealing any plans at meeting, still suspects spy.

Keep on lookout. Something big happening within a week. Must meet.

Draco thought for a moment. R was used for Riddle, aka Voldemort. Smart really. V for Voldemort might be a little obvious. S was obvious Severus Snape. Draco had long doubted his Head of House's loyalty to the Dark Lord. Somehow he had the feeling that Dumbledore would be a lot harder to fool than the Dark Lord, and he figured that the old man would know if Snape turned back to his old ways.

M was for Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy. It made since that Lucius suspected Snape, because Lucius had a sixth sense about things. He was also manipulative so if suspecting Severus helped him in anyway, he would have no qualms about turning in his 'friend'.

It would also explain the odd looks that Snape sent his way when he thought Draco wasn't looking. They had an odd relationship. Snape was supposed to be protective and immensely proud of his star Slytherin and Draco was supposed to look up to Severus as one of Lucius' friends. In reality, Snape didn't really care for him, but let him get away with whatever he pleased, and Draco left Snape alone. It was a mutual, beneficial relationship.

But what to do about Bill? As much as Draco hated to admit it, he liked the Professor. He was smart, a good teacher, and he wasn't prejudiced against Draco and he called him by his first name, something that even Snape only did on occasion. He would just keep his mouth shut until he knew the full details; he was too Slytherin just to let the matter lie. He would keep an eye on Bill.

Rule number six: Never take action directly. Wait and see how things play out before making your move.

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Bill watched Draco leave, his heart pounding madly in his chest. There was no way Draco could know. He couldn't suspect, could he? The code was not particularly hard, but it was completely hidden. There was no way he could decipher it; there was no way he could even figure out that it was there.

Get a grip Weasley, he told himself sternly. He's just a sixteen year old kid; he's not even getting O's in your class. Yeah, he may not be a total prat like everyone thinks he is, but that does not make him a genius. He's just a kid, just a kid.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling his heart return to a normal pace. After erasing the board thoroughly, he packed up his teaching supplies and left the room, making his way slowly to the teacher's lounge. The walk helped clear his head, and he sat down at his desk and began to grade his NEWT class' tests.

He took a break for dinner, and couldn't keep his eyes from straying to the blond Slytherin at the end table. From what he could tell, Draco didn't look as if he had just figured out that Bill was spying on the Death Eater meetings, but then again, the kid was a hard book to read.

He did notice the food being pushed around the plate, and the wind-blown hair. He resisted the urge to smile; the Slytherins were obviously pulling extra-practices to try and beat the Gryffindors. He was looking forward to seeing Harry play because McGonagall assured him that it was better than watching Charlie.

He returned back to his desk in a better mood and noticed the velvet green book on his desk where he had absent mindedly placed it. He smiled as he recalled memories of writing in the book while on a dig and began flipping through it, reading tidbits here and there. His eye caught a dark spot and he looked at it more closely.

Someone had crossed out a word in a straight, dark line. He realized that he had used the wrong verb, and there, over his error, was the correct word, written in elegant script. It was Draco's handwriting; he knew it in an instant. No one else wrote in such calligraphy.

He let the full implications of the correction hit him. This was the Syrian dialect, the hardest ever translated, and Draco had noticed his mistake, and fixed it. But how did he know the dialect? Thoughts of Draco as a kid genius raced across his mind. It would account for the correction in the book, but that would mean that Draco really did see something in the instructions on the board.

There was one way to find out. Bill looked at the student files on a corner of his desk. All it would take is one look at his file, and then he could put these ridiculous notions of Draco as some hidden genius to rest. He reached for the folder, but just then McGonagall raced into the room.

"Bill, some fourth year Slytherins locked a group of third years in a closet. I could use your expertise seeing as it is a private closet with heavier locking charms."

"'Course," said Bill, grabbing his wand and heading out. "It will be just like opening Ramses' tomb for the first time."

"I doubt it will be that difficult," said McGonagall. "But in the case of some protective jinxes it will be best for you to open it up since you have the most experience in the matter."

Bill nodded and exited the room, his mind completely on the task at hand and forgetting about the folder that lay in the middle of the sixth year pile with the truth about the blond Slytherin.

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One more chapter until Bill discovers the truth! If you are excited, or if your curiosity is peaked, or even if you are just mildly interested, leave a review.


	8. Rule 7: Avoid split second decisions

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own the amazing coffee I am currently consuming.

Author's note: I'm sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up, but I moved back down to college, and my computer was acting up, and I got two new roommates, all in the space of two days.

Gremlin: I'm glad you are interested.

Eve: Thanks for the review, and I'm glad that you think that my characters are well rounded.

A big thanks to Embellished who helped me fix my physics!

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Chapter 8

Rule #7: Avoid split second decisions

_Draco lay in the infirmary, staring at the sunlight filtering through the window to light up the ceiling. For the first time, he was injured through no fault of his own and although the pain medication was making thought difficult, but his mind kept flashing back to the Quidditch match that morning._

Draco listened to Warrington's pep talk as the crowd of students in the stadium was already screaming and cheering. He hated the seventh year, but even he had to admit that the Death-Eater-to-be could be downright charismatic when he wanted to.

Draco resisted the urge to jump up and down as his body screamed for movement. He instead transferred all of his energy to his right hand, touching his index finger to his thumb, and then his ring finger to his thumb, followed by his middle finger then his pinky in a 1-3-2-4 pattern. His piano teacher had taught him that, supposedly it was supposed to help with dexterity, but Draco used it any time there wasn't a hard surface to drum on.

"This is our day," said Warrington, pacing in front of them. "It is _our_ day!" He finished on a shout and Draco joined the team in giving a loud cheer and heading out to the field, but Warrington stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Just keep Potter from catching the Snitch until we're in the lead," Warrington hissed in his ear. "Do you think you can manage that, Malfoy?" The thick fingers on his shoulder squeezed rather painfully and Draco smirked at the attempt to frighten him.

"Just watch me," he drawled, and Warrington gave him a shove to get going.

_Draco shifted slightly on the bed, and heard voices across the room. He turned his head to see a man in a white over-robe stepping from the fireplace. The surgeon was here. Draco turned his head back to the ceiling and stared at the patch of sun. Every so often dark shadows would flit across the square of brightness as a cloud passed through the ray of light._

_The game had been going so well. Slytherin had scored twice within the first twenty-five seconds and by the fifteen minute marker, they were ahead 60-20. After the first half an hour, Potter had been getting restless and angry at Slytherin's lead. Of course, that might have been taunts the entire Slytherin team had been yelling at him. Either way, Potter went into a Wronski._

Draco was slowly circling the field, not really watching for the Snitch, but watching Potter. He didn't have to catch it, just force Potter to catch it when Gryffindor couldn't win. He halted when he drew even with Potter, but didn't insult him. Personally, he believed that the meaner the Slytherins got, the more Potter was bound to catch the Snitch due to karma and poetic justice.

"See anything yet, Potter?" he asked conversationally. He didn't have to insult Potter to get him riled up, and he found it amusing. Rather childish, he knew, but everyone had their flaws.

"Like I would really tell you, Malfoy!" said Potter, his green eyes blazing.

Draco shrugged languidly. "Just trying to make conversation," he said. "It may be a long game, you know, seeing as you can't rely on your broom to win the game for you, because I have one as well."

He pretended to wipe a bit of dust from his Firebolt, knowing from experience how infuriating that little act could be.

"So your father bought you a Firebolt, did he?" asked Potter. "Was it a sort of 'breaking free of Azkaban' gift?"

Draco's eyes darkened. He didn't really get along with his father, but no one talked bad about him. "Actually, I bought it myself," he said, letting the remark slide by, not wanting to clue Potter into the fact his comment actually drew blood. "Looks like you may not win this game," he said, as Slytherin scored again.

"It doesn't matter what kind of broom you have, Malfoy," spat Potter. "Just because you can pay your way in, doesn't mean you can pay to win."

And Potter went into a spectacular Wronski feint, throwing down the gauntlet. Draco smirked, as Potter's comment had actually been rather clever, and then hurtled after the other Seeker, hearing the commentary by a sixth year Ravenclaw.

"Potter goes into a dive, but the Snitch is no where in sight. Malfoy follows Potter!"

He could vaguely hear the crowd yelling as the green turf loomed closer. He watched as Potter pulled up at the last possible second, and he reluctantly had to admit that Potter had just pulled off a Wronski worthy of Krum. He kept his broom aimed at the ground, going passed Potter's point of pulling up, and just when it seemed he would crash, he jerked his broom backwards. Hard.

The result of pulling up too hard on a Wronski is that the broom flips completely over, dumping the Seeker on his back. Draco knew this, and planned accordingly. He wrapped his knees around the broomstick so that when he flipped, he was hanging on upside down, and zooming away in the opposite direction, his robes brushing the grass.

"I don't believe it!" the commentator shouted. "Potter pulls a Wronski, and Malfoy executes a perfect Andy's Maneuver!"

Draco allowed the grin he had been holding back to slip onto his face, as he pulled up into the air, righting himself and putting on a boost of sped to whip around the field as the Slytherins screamed like crazy. Even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were cheering, and the teachers were applauding, though some of them rather grudgingly.

_Draco felt the corners of his mouth twitch at the memory. He had bested Potter there and the victory tasted sweet on his lips. If only the game hadn't gone to hell in a hand basket…_

Potter spotted the Snitch only once, and Draco was able to keep him off of it, until a well directed bludger from Warrington caused them both to dive, and so the Snitch was lost. Potter was glaring and Draco was smirking.

He purposefully trailed Potter after that, staying on his tail no matter how Potter dodged. Draco nearly lost him a few times, but pulled through.

The Boy Who Lived was perhaps fifty feet in the air, and Draco was following under him maybe four feet, when the attack came. Draco heard a high keening noise and he identified it as a great vampire bat three seconds later. It took him so long because there were no vampire bats in England, at least, there weren't supposed to be.

He whipped his head around, looking for the animal, knowing that they were large and deadly, and saw it swoop up from behind the stands. Students screamed and started running, and the animal shrieked and flew up over the pitch, the size of two hippogriffs easily. It was so fast, Draco only had time to duck slightly, and then the creature was over head, knocking into Potter with one of its wings, and sending the boy hurtling off his broom.

The rate of acceleration due to gravity is 32 feet per second squared. Potter started from a dead stop and was directly above Draco when he fell. As Draco was four feet under Potter when he fell, and as the distance traveled is 16 x the square of the time, Draco had maybe half a second to decide what to do.

_Half a second is not a lot, he told himself while lying on the bed. If you split a second, you get half a second, so then that makes half a second a split second, and aren't split second decisions usually bad ones? In fiction novels, split second decisions are used to reveal the true nature of a character. He didn't want to think if that possibility was true._

_Rule number seven: Avoid split second decisions._

_He could hear Madame Pomfrey talking to the surgeon, and let his thoughts wander again._

In that half a second, Harry had fallen so that he was directly left of Draco, and Draco launched himself sideways and latched onto Harry's wrist. He was promptly flipped upside down, hanging onto his broom by his knees and by his right hand. His left hand was holding onto Potter, who was dangling thirty-five feet in the air and looking up at his savior with a very startled expression. Draco knew that his own expression was just as surprised.

He then realized that Harry's hand was slipping out of his grasp, and so he let go of the broom stick with his right hand so he was just hanging onto his broom with his knees, and held his right hand out.

"Take my hand," he yelled, over the screams of the students who were now under the onslaught of the bat. A quick glance to the stands showed that the bat was strafing the students, lashing out with its claws as it tried to swipe one. The teachers were throwing hexes at it, making it shriek and writhe.

Potter pulled himself up a little and managed to grab his other hand. Draco then tilted the broom downward and they began a slow, gradual decline, any steeper, and Draco's knees would slip right off. He managed to lower them so that they were fifteen feet up, but then Potter's hand slipped and the jerk caused the broom to tilt completely down, and Draco slid off, even though his legs tried to tighten around the handle.

Draco let go of Harry's hand during the plummet, not wanting to land on top of him. It wasn't necessary to bother. Five feet from the ground Harry's freefall was slowed by a charm from Dumbledore; Draco hit the ground at- what he approximated with his rather rough physics- 0.1125 seconds later, a time too short for the levitating charm Dumbledore sent at him to fully form.

His left leg hit the ground first at an angle that obliged it to fold up under his body as he hit the lawn. The momentum caused him to roll a few times and then he was left, gasping for a breath that wasn't there and staring at the blue sky, the only thing keeping him from screaming at the pain was the fact that the wind had been knocked out of him.

Once his diaphragm filled with air, he bit back the scream and struggled to sit up but stopped when a lancing pain shot from his leg to his head. He could hear a deafening crash and turned to the right to see the giant bat falling into the Hufflepuff stands, taken down by the teachers, and then his view was obscured by red robes. He dragged his gaze up to rest on the confused face of Harry Potter.

The boy hero was joined by McGonagall, who grabbed Harry by his shoulders and asked him urgently if he was all right. Harry wordlessly pointed to Draco, and she came to stand over him. She was joined by Dumbledore and Professor Stevick and Draco was extremely glad to see Snape join them. Even if he and his teacher didn't really get along, the presence of another Slytherin was comforting.

Claire Jameson came running up.

"Pomfrey's here," she said.

"Good," said Dumbledore. "Bryant, Claire, would you tell the prefects and Head Boy and Girl to get everyone to their houses, and then make sure the injured get to the infirmary?"

"Of course," said the DADA professor and he and the student teacher hurried off. Pomfrey arrived, joining the group, and Draco got sick of everyone standing over him.

"Potter," said Pomfrey, "are you hurt?"

Draco felt anger surge inside of him as he was the one on the ground and Potter was standing, but Potter was always first.

"_Draco?" asked Madame Pomfrey, pulling him out of his reverie. "The surgeon is here and he's going to fix your leg, alright?"_

_If Draco was not on the pain meds, he would have rolled his eyes, or said something sarcastic, but he wasn't quite himself and so he gave a slight smile and nodded. She returned the smile, and brushed his hair off of his face with cool, soothing fingers._

_Of course she was nice to him now, he thought bitterly, as she moved off to get the surgeon. But he couldn't really blame her as he had been a right prat most of the time he was in here. He stared back at the ceiling, remembering how she had first acted towards him after the accident._

Bill came up, joining the teachers as the Boy-Who-Lived tried to explain to Pomfrey that he was fine, Dumbledore's spell had saved him. She finally turned to Draco.

"Alright, Mr. Malfoy. What hurts this time? And if it's not too serious, don't waste my time with theatrics."

He noted that McGonagall hid a smile at that and that even Dumbledore's eyes seemed to sparkle more than usual.

"I'm fine," he said coldly.

Pomfrey looked surprised, but relieved that she was spared from any drama. "Well, then, let's get you up so I can look you both over at the infirmary."

Draco didn't move.

"Mr. Malfoy, if you would be so kind as to stand up?" said Pomfrey irritably.

"I can't," said Draco.

Pomfrey gave an audible sigh and muttered something about being melodramatic that McGonagall smiled even wider at. Snape extended a hand and Draco allowed his Head of House to pull him smoothly to his good foot.

"Are you alright, Draco?" asked Snape.

Draco nodded and tried to take a step on his injured leg. He was prepared for pain, but nothing like the searing fire that ripped up his leg. He staggered heavily, his jaw clenched, his face a stone mask of no emotion. Snape caught him and he leaned heavily on the Potions Master.

"He is injured," said Snape to medi-witch, lowering him to the ground.

"Really, Mr. Malfoy," said Madame Pomfrey. "Can't it wait until we get to the infirmary?"

But she knelt beside him, and McGonagall, Bill, Potter and Dumbledore crowded around again. Draco wished they would go away.

"His left leg," said Snape to Pomfrey, who nodded and slit his trousers up to mid thigh and then pulled the flaps back. Draco barely registered the gasp from Pomfrey, or the 'Sweet Merlin' from McGonagall. He surveyed his leg dispassionately.

Legs just weren't supposed to look like that. His knee was swollen to twice its normal size and his knee cap was off center. It was more than off center. It looked as if it had come detached of what ever it was supposed to be connected to and had slipped to the right. Black bruises with a greenish tinge mottled pale skin from an inch above his knee to three inches below and his lower leg seemed to be bent funny from his knee. Draco wondered if it was possible for his leg to be disconnected as well.

"Severus, I need you to get started on an immobilization potion," ordered Pomfrey. "Albus, please take Harry to the infirmary, and Minerva, Floo St. Mungo's and tell them that I need a surgeon."

The teachers didn't protest, but immediately jumped to obey. Pomfrey gently lowered Draco all the way to the ground, and started rummaging around in her pockets for a pain potion.

"It was a terrific spill," said Bill, sitting on the grass next to him.

Pomfrey found the bottle and held it to his lips. "Drink this," she said. "I don't want to move you until we get that leg immobilized. Severus has the potion half made for emergencies, and it will be out in a few moments."

Draco obediently sipped the orange liquid, drinking a fourth of the bottle. He knew that once the dragonfly wings were added to the immobilization potion, it only had twenty-four hours to be effective, and so it was kept half made.

He blinked as the unbearable fire that raged in his leg was brought down to a mere smoldering. The potion left him feeling relaxed and contentedly hazy.

"Ever broken a bone before, Draco?" Bill asked, and Draco answered, the potion stopping any inhibitions he may have held before.

"A few," said Draco. "I broke my wrist playing Quidditch once back at the Manor. That was my first."

"How old were you?" asked Bill.

"Six," said Draco. "Lucius was supposed to be watching me, but I dodged a bludger and fell off my broom.

"Ouch," said Bill. "Did you cry?"

"No," said Draco. The truth was he hadn't cried since the day he was born, courtesy of his mother and an anti-crying charm left on him seven years. Charms left on too long often caused permanent damage. "I got out of playing piano for two weeks so it wasn't so bad." He blinked, wondering if he had just revealed that about himself. Pain potions often caused the mind to lose control, and he had seriously lost it.

"The first time I broke a bone," said Bill, "was when I was nineteen and was on this dig in the Sahara. They had just discovered the ruins of a temple and we were trying to get past the curses in this chamber underground. Well, we tried the wrong spell and caused the whole thing to come collapsing down on us. I got a boulder to the leg, and it just snapped. I still haven't told my mother about that one."

Bill laughed at the memory and Draco felt his lips turn slightly up. "Lucius told Narcissa I fell down the stairs when I broke my wrist. She thinks Quidditch is dangerous."

"It's only dangerous when there are giant bats," said Bill, nodding wisely, and Draco felt the smile widen. He tried to tell himself to get a grip, but the potion was a good one, and he couldn't stop.

"Mothers have to worry," Bill continued. "It's in their genes."

"She wasn't worried," said Draco. "She was more concerned that an injury might interfere with her party the next day."

Bill frowned. "She must care some," he started, but Draco shook his head.

"She doesn't. She drinks a lot, you know, so she doesn't care much about anything, except the whiskey and the potions and the parties."

He clamped his mouth shut, swearing fluently in French in his head. Bill didn't push the matter, and Pomfrey looked as if she was really seeing him for the first time.

"Severus is here," she said, spotting Snape hurrying across the lawn. "Drink some more of this, the immobilization potion is a tad uncomfortable.

She made him drink over half of the bottle, which meant that the potion would be more than uncomfortable, and then went to meet Severus. Draco felt slightly dizzy, and he noted vaguely that there was one cloud that looked suspiciously like Dumbledore's beard.

"Hey, Draco," called a voice from far away. Was that the wind saying his name? He turned slightly and saw Bill, looking at him with a slight smile on his face. "You're really zoning, aren't you?" Bill asked, and it seemed that he was talking in slow motion.

Draco had used that word 'zoning' before, and his mind flashed once, and he remembered the code on the board. R is for Riddle, he thought, M is for Malfoy.

"There's a riddle on your board," he whispered, though the black was descending and he didn't know if he was saying it out loud. "R is for Riddle." He blinked back the darkness and stared back up at the sky. "M is for Malfoy. That's the riddle."

Something was being poured down his throat and there was a throbbing in his leg and then the late morning sky faded to night where there were no stars to break the black.

He had woken up in the infirmary, not knowing how he had gotten there. The last thing he remembered was talking to Bill about broken bones, and he had slipped and told him about his mother, but that was it. The surgeon had come an hour later after his Quidditch team had visited; they were demanding to know why he had saved Potter. As no one had really seen Draco catch Harry, he managed to get away with a lie.

_I didn't save him. He fell into me and grabbed my arm. By the time I realized that I was preventing him from falling to his most welcome death, it was too late to let go without being obvious about it. If I had, I would have been expelled because Dumbledore was watching. Besides, it's not my place to kill Potter. It's the Dark Lord's honor._

He had told them that, the last bit had been said in a whisper, and within moments his story had been spread around the entire Slytherin house, thanks to Pansy, and Draco had been praised for his devotion to the Dark Lord. He had also been pitied as Dumbledore had only seen it fit to save Harry. Some rumors were circulating that Dumbledore had wanted Draco to die because he was afraid that Draco would become a Death Eater, and that he would be too great a threat.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy," said the surgeon from St. Mungo's. "I'm going to put you to sleep now so I can fix your leg, alright?"

Draco nodded, and drank the potion, and once again, everything went dark.

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Bill had to agree that Harry was better than Charlie. He sat next to McGonagall, watching Harry fly, and upon realizing that Harry had received no private lessons and was simply flying on instinct, he had to be amazed. Then he had seen the Wronski and watched as Harry pulled out beautifully and watched Draco flip backwards in an Andy's Maneuver.

He was impressed. He could tell from watching the two that Harry was the better flyer, that he always would be because it came naturally, but Draco was good too. While he wasn't an instinctive flyer like Harry, he made up for it by having perfect form and no doubt good instructors. It was going to be a good game, and it was… until the bat had come.

He had seen the great vampire bat before on a few expeditions, and the one that had appeared in the middle of the Quidditch game was the largest he had seen. His wand was immediately out along with the rest of the teachers, but he didn't fire. He knew what had to be done as he had watched the creatures be taken down in the wild.

He lost concentration for a moment when he saw that Harry was currently holding onto Malfoy's hand as it was apparent that he had fallen. He watched in amazement as Draco lowered his other hand as well, and once he had a two-handed grip on Harry, directed his broom with his knees and began lowering them like some circus act.

Bill brought his attention back to the bat, knowing that only a direct shot to the head could immobilize it, and took his chance a minute later. "Stupefy!" he shouted and the bat lurched from the hit, but didn't fall.

Dumbledore suddenly yelled out a spell Bill didn't quite catch and he looked over to see two figures falling to the earth. He realized in a split second that it was Harry and Draco, just as Dumbledore's spell hit Harry, but the second charm Dumbledore shouted was too late. Draco hit the ground with sickening impact.

Bill brought his attention back to the bat as it nearly grabbed a Hufflepuff girl and saw another opportunity. Ignoring all of the shouted spells around him, he aimed his wand and yelled "Stupefy maximus!" The streak of red from his wand hit the creature dead on the forehead and it fell.

The teachers were immediately running onto the field, Dumbledore patting his shoulder. "Good work, Bill. Make sure that it is restrained, will you?"

Bill nodded and made his way over to examine the large bat that had crashed through the stands. It was indeed unconscious, and upon further investigation, he saw that the Dark Mark had been burned into its chest. Hagrid arrived with rope to tie it, and Bill made his way to the group of teachers standing around Draco who was lying on the ground and staring up at them with thinly veiled irritation.

Pomfrey was making some quip to Minerva, and Bill was under the impression that Draco often milked injuries for more than they were worth though that definitely did not appear to be the case now. Draco stubbornly told them that he was fine, even though there were beads of sweat on his forehead and his jaw was clenched.

Upon trying to rise, Draco collapsed and was set on the ground again. Bill leaned in to see what was wrong with him, and nearly gagged when he saw the state of the kid's leg. Legs just weren't supposed to look like that. Pomfrey gave orders to send the teachers away, but Bill found himself sitting next to the boy and making small talk.

"It was a terrific spill," he said, but the kid didn't respond, staring up at the sky listlessly. Bill waited until the pain potion was administered and then tried again when Draco's eyes glazed over slightly. "Ever broken a bone before, Draco?" he asked, and to his surprise, Draco answered.

It must be the potion, he thought as Draco went on to say that he played piano. Bill told Draco of his own first broken bone, leaving out the fact that someone had died right next to him, giving Bill the ability to see thestrals. He made a joke of it, how he had never told his mother, and the kid actually smiled, albeit slightly.

"Lucius told Narcissa I fell down the stairs when I broke my wrist. She thinks Quidditch is dangerous," said Draco, and Bill wondered if Draco ever called them 'mum' and 'dad'. Somehow it seemed weird thinking of Lucius as a father teaching Quidditch to a six year old.

"It's only dangerous when there are giant bats," said Bill, giving his best Dumbledore impression, and Draco's smile widened. Bill shook his head; that was something he didn't expect to see.

"Mothers have to worry," he continued. "It's in their genes."

Draco's smile slipped from his face, his eyes darkening slightly. "She wasn't worried. She was more concerned that an injury might interfere with her party the next day." It was obvious that the kid honestly thought that was the truth and he frowned.

"She must care some," he started, but Draco shook his head and he stopped.

"She doesn't. She drinks a lot, you know, so she doesn't care much about anything, except the whiskey and the potions and the parties."

Bill watched as Draco suddenly clenched his mouth shut and suddenly he felt rather guilty, sitting here with the kid while he was obviously drugged up and talking about things that were definitely private and should be kept that way. But still, Draco's words echoed through his head, and he couldn't help but give the kid a sympathetic look. Pomfrey was also looking at him with a new expression in her eyes, but then she glanced up.

"Severus is here," she said, and she made Draco drink more pain potion saying that the immobilization brew was a 'tad uncomfortable'. She then went to meet Severus.

Must be more than a tad uncomfortable, thought Bill as he watched Draco who was now incredibly drugged up. The teenager was staring at the sky with a dazed expression on his face, his brows knitted as he stared at a particularly long, white cloud.

"Hey, Draco," Bill called, and the boy turned to him slowly, the dazed expression still there. "You're really zoning, aren't you?" Bill asked, not being able to hide the smile on his face. For one second, Draco's eyes cleared and seemed completely lucid, but then the glassy expression returned.

"There's a riddle on your board," Draco muttered, his eyes falling shut and then blinking back open. "R is for riddle."

Bill frowned. What was the kid saying? Draco turned his head so that he was staring at the sky again.

"M is for Malfoy," Draco whispered. "That is the riddle."

Bill froze as he finally realized what Draco was saying. R is for Riddle, not riddle. He stared in shock as comprehension hit him. He barely noticed Pomfrey returning and pouring another potion down the boy's throat, and only noticed that the two teachers whisked him away on a conjured stretcher because the object he had been staring at was gone.

It took a full minute for his stunned mind to realize the full implications of Draco's words. Here was a sixteen year old kid who had discovered his hidden code on the board. Suddenly the pieces came together.

His mind flashed to all the times when he should have figured out what Draco was hiding. Calling him 'Bill' in the beginning of the year before anyone else had figured the rule out, the way he had so easily tried to manipulate Bill when he talked to him and Blaise, Draco telling him 'Au revior' when he had caught the kid staring at the code, and the correction in the margin of his book. All he needed now was proof and he had a feeling he would find it in Draco's file.

He stood and took off at a dead run to the castle, thanking Merlin as he did that everyone was in their houses or in offices. He really didn't want to have to answer any questions.

He pounded through the castle halls, banging open the teacher's lounge door and letting it slam shut behind him. He dug frantically through the pile of student files on his desk, finally pulling out the one marked Malfoy, Draco L. He stared at it for a moment, then walked slowly to the fireplace and sat down on the sofa. He set the folder on his lap and slowly opened it.

The first thing he noticed was the lack of teacher comments. Usually these files were reviewed by Professors and the teachers wrote in things like 'Tommy has been very good this year and shows much improvement' or 'Since the death of Sally's mother, Sally has been extremely quiet and her work is not at its usual standard'. Draco's folder was clean, which was a surprise to Bill. He knew that the teachers did not like the Malfoy heir, but he hadn't realized it was to this extreme.

Bill then turned to the student history page and looked it over. Draco was born in Paris, and lived in France until he was eight. Well, that explained the bit about how Draco had translated the code on the wall, but that didn't explain how he deciphered it.

He turned to the next page, Draco's grade report year one. Bill smiled. All E's. He turned to the next page, grade report, year two, again all E's. He frowned, and then turned to year three. All E's. He flipped to year four. All E's. He turned to year five, already knowing what he would find. Again, all E's.

Bill closed the folder and placed beside him, then stared at the fire. He was used to detecting patterns and breaking codes. He had been doing so for many years now, and Draco's code was like his own, not particularly hard, but you had to look for it. No one got straight E's five years in a row, just because that's how smart they were. Draco was getting E's on purpose.

The kid was smart, much smarter than he pretended to be. Bill wouldn't be surprised if he was smarter than Hermione because Hermione got straight O's, Draco planned on how _not_ to get them.

He stood and put the folder of Draco back in the pile, shaking his head as he realized that prejudice went both ways. The other members of the faculty thought that Draco was just an arrogant pureblood, and hadn't given him the time of day. If they had, they may have discovered a new side to Draco Malfoy. Of course, now that he thought of it, Draco had probably planned it this way.

He sat back on the couch. He had to talk to Draco.

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	9. Discovered

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the things officially affiliated with Harry Potter. I do own the really awesome shirt I am wearing right now, it's brown and has a skull and crossbones on it and then it has a pink flower in its hair, or at least a pink flower where its hair would be, but skulls don't have hair, so it doesn't.

Silverhikari: Thanks for the review, and here's the next chapter with Bill and Draco talking

Gremlin: What will Bill do, indeed. Well, you can get a faint idea of what Bill is going to do in this chapter, hope you like it

Rachel: Thank you for the compliments, and I'm glad that you liked the last chapter so much

Mask: yes, dear, refrigerators are cold, lol

Kristen: I'm glad that it caught your attention, and here is the next chapter

Meirta: no, I'm sorry, this story is **not** slash, pure friendship, nothing more

Melanie: I would love to send you chapter two, I'll prolly send it after dinner sometime, so look for it then

And always, thanks to my beta, Ada Achlys, you're amazing!

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Draco woke up sometime Sunday morning, still hazy because of the drugs. Madame Pomfrey bustled over when she saw him awake.

"How are you feeling, Draco?" she asked kindly.

Draco frowned at the use of his first name and the comforting smile on her face and was just pondering her unexpected behavior when he remembered lying on the field, blurting out the fact that his mother was an alcoholic to the nurse and Bill. He groaned and wondered if he said anything else, but couldn't remember.

"Does your leg hurt?" asked Pomfrey in concern. "I can get you some stronger pain medication if you like?"

"No," Draco managed, the word coming out in more of a croak. Ever since the 'incident' with his mother's pleasure potions, he hated anything stronger than the pain potion he had yesterday.

"Are you sure?" Pomfrey asked. "You had surgery yesterday, pretty invasive surgery. At least let me give you a sleeping tonic so you can sleep off the worst of it."

Draco was about to protest and began to sit up a bit, but a sharp pain in his leg and the sudden pounding in his head halted the movement. He fell back on the pillows, feeling nausea rise up and realizing that although the pain in his leg was considerably less than it had been yesterday, now it just called attention to the rest of the bruises on his body. He decided that the sleeping draught sounded rather good.

"Alright," he said. Pomfrey got him the sleeping draught and then gave him a glass of water to wash it down with. Draco lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes, hoping to fall asleep quickly to escape the pain.

He was jerked out of his sleep in the afternoon by soft footsteps and the sound of a chair being pulled close. He was still slightly groggy as the sleeping potion hadn't quite worn off, but his body wasn't used to so much rest and he was a light sleeper. He opened his eyes and was surprised to see none other than Bill Weasley sitting in a chair beside his bed. Before he could wonder what the eldest Weasley was doing there, Bill spoke.

"Bonjour, Draco. Comment etes-vous?" (Hello, Draco. How are you doing?)

"Que faites-vous ici?" (What are you doing here?) Draco asked in confusion, not realizing he had spoken in his native language until Bill gave a slight smile. Draco's brain sent out a warning, and he knew that this conversation could not be good. If he had been able to, he would have run, but he was stuck in bed wearing the white infirmary pajamas with his left leg propped up on pillows and so he was forced to stay.

"A funny thing happened the other day," said Bill in English. He looked down at the floor a moment, then looked Draco square in the eyes. "I looked through your file."

Draco froze, his mind whirling as the full implications hit. He opened his mouth, but no words came out so he closed it again, still staring at Bill.

"So, is E your favorite letter or something?" Bill asked, with a faint smile on his lips.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Draco, managing to speak again, but the denial fell flat. He was off-balance because of the drugs and his brain couldn't quite keep up with what was happening. In the beginning he had planned on what he was going to do if his grades were ever discovered, but as time wore on, he stopped wondering, confident that no one would ever look. He now cursed himself for his arrogance and tried to mentally slap his brain into awareness.

"So, how smart are you exactly?" asked Bill, cutting to the chase.

"How long have you been spying on the Death Eaters?" Draco retorted, hoping to scare him into silence, or at least, change the subject.

"A few weeks now," said Bill. "Around the time I started putting the code up."

Draco stared again. He had just gone ahead and told him? Not only that, but Bill knew that Draco knew about the code.

"So, how smart are you?" Bill asked again.

Draco then realized what Bill had done. He had given Draco a secret in exchange for his own so that neither of them could betray the other. He was impressed, and decided that since the Weasley figured out that much already, he may as well learn the rest. Besides, maybe this way he could learn more about Bill's spying job as well. He made sure Pomfrey was out of hearing distance before speaking.

"Pretty smart," Draco admitted, feeling surprisingly calm in revealing his life's secret. "Smarter than you."

"Doesn't take much," said Bill.

"You're the only one I've had this conversation with," said Draco. "That ought to count for something."

"That's my job, to observe things, find inconsistencies and break codes. Most buried treasures are protected in three different ways, physical booby-traps, some translating to do, and then a riddle. I see most things as a riddle."

"So I'm a riddle?" Draco asked, again trying to sidetrack the Professor.

"A riddle that almost fooled me," said Bill. "And you're changing the subject."

Draco smirked. "You figured that out pretty fast."

"Answer the question, Draco. How smart?"

Draco sighed and shifted a bit. "I brewed Veritaserum when I was twelve. I became an illegal animagus at thirteen. By fourteen, I knew everything there was to be taught at this school. By fifteen, I could graduate with honors from a Muggle high school, and right now I can tell you with 94 confidency every single witch or wizard who is a Death Eater and every single witch or wizard who is in the Order of the Phoenix."

He waited for Bill to deny his statement or to laugh at him, or to go and tell Dumbledore. Bill didn't do anything like that; instead he sent an impressed look at Draco.

"That's absolutely amazing," said Bill.

"That's it?" asked Draco, too stunned to play the aloof Ice Prince. "No disbelief, no incredulity, no tests to hook me up to or interrogations to learn exactly who is a Death Eater?"

Bill immediately sobered up. "You do realize that you would be a great asset to either side of the war. Right now, I could drag you to Headquarters, feed you Veritaserum, and make you spill everything you know."

Draco smiled. "You wouldn't be able to. I'm versed in both the Dark Arts and self-defense. Although," he paused and studied Bill, "you wouldn't really do that. You're too noble."

"Or perhaps the cause I am fighting for would be undermined if I took to kidnapping and interrogating a minor."

"Like I said," said Draco. "Too noble."

Bill shrugged. "Perhaps."

Draco sat up a bit. "How did you know that I deciphered the code?" he asked.

Bill grinned. "You told me," he said, then went on to explain as Draco felt the confusion slip onto his face. "When you were drugged up. You told me that I had a riddle on my board. R is for Riddle. M is for Malfoy. You really are the talkative one on those pain potions."

Draco glared, and steered the conversation in another direction. "How did you get picked to be a spy on the Death Eaters?" he asked.

"I'm just relaying the code," said Bill.

"Liar," said Draco. "You're actually spying on the meetings."

Instead of looking abashed or guilty or denying the statement, Bill smiled. "And how do you come to that conclusion?" he asked.

"You're young, unmarried, and healthy," said Draco shrugging. "You're also perceptive. It would be a waste for you to do anything as menial as merely relaying a code and I doubt the Order has a surplus of such volunteers. And right now you're testing me, aren't you?" he added as Bill gave him an encouraging smile.

"Trying to see if that genius applies to real life scenarios," he said. "Plus I can imagine that you're rarely challenged here."

Well, that was the truth. "So, how do you do it?" Draco asked.

"You tell me," said Bill, settling back in his chair and wearing a challenging grin.

Draco thought for a minute, the fingers in his right hand twitching in that 1-3-2-4 pattern because once again he had no hard surface to drum on.

"The first problem is getting to the meeting," said Draco, making sure that Pomfrey was still in her office with the door shut. "You couldn't use a tracking spell."

"Why not?" asked Bill, not objecting to his statement, but wanting to hear his reasons.

"Too noticeable," said Draco. "The slight light or the pulsing noise is obvious. The Dark Lord may be a lot of things, but he's not stupid. You could use a bond I suppose, but you would need an Occlumens to pull it off, plus most Death Eater meetings are held in remote locations and he's overseas now, so it wouldn't work."

"How do you know he's overseas?" asked Bill.

"I went to a few in France," said Draco, shrugging. He noticed Bill's startled look and sneered. "Oh, come on," he said. "I'm the son of a Death Eater. Don't tell me you think I'm completely innocent."

"I suppose you've met Voldemort then," said Bill, not trying to be casual about his prying. "What do you think of him?"

"The Dark Lord?" reiterated Draco. He shrugged again. "Can't say I don't disagree with what he says about purity in the blood lines, but can't say I totally agree with following a half-blood to do it. Seems to be a bit of a contradiction."

"But what about Muggleborns?" asked Bill.

"They're Mudbloods," said Draco. "Right now I'm still going with my childhood teachings."

"Which are?" Bill prodded.

"Purity of the blood is worth more than money, though money is a close second. I have both, therefore I am above the rich and tainted and the poor and pure."

Bill stared at him. "You really are a right, arrogant snot, aren't you?" he asked incredulous.

Draco stared back. He knew that is what people thought of him, that was how he portrayed himself, but no one had ever told him in that straight, matter-of-fact voice that he was such a bastard. He thought for a moment.

"Yes," he said. "I suppose I am."

Bill laughed, and Draco was surprised to note that Bill was not condemning him for his prejudiced beliefs and he wasn't trying to change his beliefs. Draco was beginning to suspect that Bill was not like anyone he had met yet, and he figured that Bill would continue to be surprising.

"So," said Bill. "Tracking spells won't work. How else am I getting there?"

"You could be disguised and pretend to be a Death Eater, but that has too many complications, and somehow I sincerely doubt that the Dark Lord would be that easily fooled."

"So, how does one get to a Death Eater meeting?" asked Bill guiding his thoughts.

"The only way to get to a Death Eater meeting is to be called," said Draco. "Or to Apparate with one who is called, that's how I go, but I can't see you holding anyone's hand which must mean that somehow you transferred a mark, which is supposed to be impossible."

"So I can't go that way?" asked Bill.

Draco shook his head. "It's supposed to be impossible," he said. "That doesn't mean it is."

"Very true," said Bill, and from his smile, Draco knew that was how it worked.

"So you transferred a Mark," he said. "Was it from a dead body?"

Now Bill looked intrigued. "Not a bad idea," he said. "But Voldemort would know when a Death Eater dies, and he would obviously notice if all of a sudden he received a new follower."

"Not all of it," said Draco. "Just a tiny bit of it. Since you didn't get it off of a body, you must have transferred a piece of it from Snape."

"Snape?" asked Bill in surprise. Draco had to hand it to him; Bill was an excellent actor.

"Is a spy," Draco said, finishing his sentence. "I've known for a while now. It's why Dumbledore trusts him and why he doesn't like me."

Bill studied him for a moment. "He worries about you," he finally said.

Draco raised his eyebrow in surprise. "Oh?"

"He's afraid you're going to turn out like your father because of your upbringing."

Draco filed that piece of information away in his head. "So you can go to the meetings because you have a bit of Snape's mark. Can I see it?"

Bill pulled up his left sleeve and showed Draco his unmarked skin. "Invisible," he said.

"The Pater's Ritual?" asked Draco, naming a ritual created by a father who transferred a curse from his son onto himself. The ritual was then named after the self-sacrificing father.

"With a few variations," said Bill. "In the potion we used blood instead of moonstone."

"To create a bond between you two instead of a complete transference of the mark," said Draco, putting the pieces together.

"That's right," said Bill. "And we changed the wording a bit too, but that's the gist of it. Dumbledore was the one who came up with the idea."

"He is a genius," said Draco. "You have an invisibility cloak to spy, don't you?"

"And what else?" asked Bill.

"Scent killing potions for Nagini," said Draco. "And a silencing charm for the Apparation noise."

"No," said Bill. "I don't need the silencing charms."

Draco gazed at him in jealousy. "You're a silent Apparater, aren't you?" he asked. Each wizard or witch had their sound when they Apparated. Narcissa had a soft 'pop', Lucius entered with a snap of a whip, and Draco's sound (he Apparated illegally) was the quiet version of a crack of lightning.

"Yeah," said Bill, grinning at the obvious envy on his face.

"So you go and sit in on the Death Eater's meetings," said Draco. "And then you put the code up and Tonks relays the message to McGonagall or someone else."

Bill frowned. "I'm beginning to think that you are too smart for your own good," he said.

Draco smirked. "So, the bat was the work of a Death Eater then?" he asked.

Bill nodded. "Don't go spreading it around school," he said. "No one's supposed to know."

"How did it get in?" asked Draco.

"Through the forest," said Bill. "The wards at Hogwarts don't prevent animals from getting onto the school grounds and we can only assume that a Death Eater trapped the animal and brought it the forest and then some how guided it here."

Draco shook his head. "Rather clever," he said. "Of course a female bat would have been better. They may be smaller, but they are more vicious and would have caused more damaged. In fact, another animal in general would have been better, though I suspect that the bat was more for show than anything."

"That's what's worrying," said Bill. "Usually the Death Eater's go for more deadly attacks than showy. We think they may be up to something."

"Here's another idea for you," said Draco. "The attack wasn't planned by the Dark Lord. Look at the World Cup two years ago. That was led by Death Eaters and that was definitely for show."

"It is a possibility," said Bill thoughtfully, then turned serious. "You do realize that I'm actually going to look into your suggestions," he said. "If you don't want to help out our side, you should probably stop talking."

That was not surprising, that was downright shocking. Draco expected Bill to continue pressing questions on him or to ask him questions concerning his father's whereabouts at the least, but here he was warning him to shut up if he didn't want the Order to know.

"Why did you warn me?" he asked, being unable to come up with an answer. He hated the feeling of confusion, and it wasn't a feeling he felt often.

Bill was silent for a moment and then he leaned forward a bit. "You're confused," he said. "You don't know if you agree with Voldemort and you don't know if you want to be a Death Eater, however you think that doing so may be your only option."

Draco blinked as Bill's intense gaze bored into his. He wanted to object, to say that he wasn't confused. He was a genius for Merlin's sake; he wasn't supposed to get confused, but he couldn't speak.

"Choosing sides is a hard thing to do," Bill continued, "and it is a decision only you can make. If I influence you in any way, the decision won't be yours and that is how spies are made. They get pressured into one side and then they decide that they don't agree with that faction, like Snape. Fortunately, he's on our side. If he wasn't, who knows what damage he could do? If you joined and then realized it wasn't your decision, you could bring down the entire Order, because you are that smart. I'm not going to risk that. Plus, you're still a kid."

"What?" Draco protested, sitting up. "I'm smarter than you and McGonagall combined, I'm not just some kid!"

"You are though," said Bill. "A very smart one, but still a kid. A very lonely kid at that. My guess is that you could use a friend who isn't watching and analyzing your every move."

"Friends?" asked Draco, raising an eyebrow. "You want to be friends?" Somehow it seemed laughable.

"Sure," said Bill. "'Professors are your pals', you know. And speaking of Professors, Pomfrey says you should be up by Tuesday afternoon and when you come to class, I want you to fail your test."

Draco stared at him, trying to comprehend the complete and total subject change. "Why?" he asked, narrowing his gaze.

"Just trust me," said Bill. "I'm not spilling your secret, so I think I warrant a bit of trust. I promise, it will be worth it. Think about it, and try to get some rest until then. That fall of yours really was spectacular."

He stood up and walked out the infirmary, leaving a very confused Draco Malfoy staring after him. Draco decided he had better get used to the feeling; he figured Bill Weasley would always be that way.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Bill left the infirmary shaking his head in wonderment. Here was possibly the smartest child since Dumbledore was a kid, and no one knew but him - well, and Draco. He shook his head again; that kid was really something else. He had figured out that Bill was a spy, and figured out how Bill was getting there. He resisted the urge to laugh in sheer amazement. It was unbelievable, simply unbelievable.

He was so wrapped up in his musings that he didn't even notice the Headmaster falling in step beside him until Dumbledore spoke.

"A face that troubled often means there is trouble."

Bill jerked at the sound, his hand going for his wand and then stopping as he recognized the voice.

"Headmaster," he said, giving the old man a sheepish smile. "I'm afraid I was lost in my thoughts."

"A very easy place to get lost when one does not have a map," said Dumbledore. "What seems to be the trouble?"

Bill opened his mouth to say nothing, but then stopped and thought for a moment. Did Dumbledore deserve to know? Could he honestly keep something like this hidden?

"Nothing as of now," he said slowly. "Was there something you needed?"

"Actually yes," said Dumbledore. "Did you see Harry fall yesterday?"

"I saw Draco holding on to him," said Bill. "And I saw Draco reaching down to grab his other hand, but no, I didn't see the exact fall. May I ask why you want to know?"

Dumbledore was silent for a moment. "I believe I saw Mr. Malfoy catch Mr. Potter," he said after a while. "But I can't be sure."

Bill carefully composed his face. "Why would Draco do that?" he asked, though he was inwardly celebrating the fact that Draco wasn't as far gone in his prejudiced beliefs as Bill feared he might be.

"Why indeed," said the Headmaster. "I spoke to Minerva about it, showed her my Pensieve of the event in fact, but she seems to think that I want to believe that it happened that way."

"Could that be possible?" asked Bill, playing devil's advocate and enjoying it far too much.

"She could be right," allowed Dumbledore. "My most dangerous failing is that I may sometimes see the good in a person far after that goodness has been discarded."

"What did Severus say?" asked Bill.

"I haven't showed him," said Dumbledore. "If Tom somehow broke through Severus' mind and saw that image, even if it wasn't true, the consequences would not be pretty for Mr. Malfoy. But you are younger, and you call him Draco, something that no one here does. Perhaps you could keep an eye on him for me?"

"Of course, Headmaster," said Bill.

"Thank you, William," said Dumbledore. "But don't overexert yourself. We need you in good health, but it's just that I believe there is something about that boy…," Dumbledore trailed off.

Bill hid a Malfoy-like smirk. If only you knew, Headmaster, he thought. If only you knew.

-------------------------------------------------------

So, why does Bill want Draco to fail the test? Who exactly in the school sent that bat? Will more danger come…well, yes, but not right now. So, please leave a review, and let me know what you think of the confrontation, good, bad, boring, stupid? All of the above? Review if you want to know.


	10. Rule 8: Avoid pain medications

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and my amazing yellow headphones broke so that I don't own them anymore either.

Dbi: Thanks for the review, and I am glad that you are liking the story so far. Here's another rule for you.

Melanie: No problem, and if you ever need another chapter sent to you I'd be honored to send it. I've always thought Bill was a cool character too, and thanks for the review!

Gremlin: Yes, you are definitely onto something with your theory. Thanks for the review, and yay for happy dances!

Kristen: Wow, thanks for the compliments and for the review, I'm glad that you like it.

Authors note: Thanks to Embellished who pointed out my physics error in chapter 8 and another thanks for giving me the equation in feet, which makes life a whole lot easier for me. You can go check out the new and improved version and thank you very much!

As always, thanks to my awesome beta Ada Achlys!

Chapter 10

_Rule number eight: Avoid pain medications. If they must be used, do so in privacy._

Fail the test, Draco thought to himself. Why would Bill ask him to fail the test? He slowly made his way down to the Ancient Runes classroom, keeping his weight off of his knee by the use of crutches, which made the trek to the class seem like a cross-country journey and each staircase a mountain.

The crutches were useful though. Now he could walk in late to class and the teachers wouldn't be able to mark him off, and it also drew attention from the other students, especially the females, who helped him carry his books and fussed over him.

Just because he was a genius did not mean that he didn't enjoy the effects of being one of the 'hottest' male students. With his fortune and pureblood status, he was used to being sought out, but the crutches made even the shy girls approach him and ask how he was feeling. Draco was no innocent, and he was a teenaged boy, and so he thoroughly enjoyed the interest in him.

He pushed open the door of Ancient Runes, noting that everyone was in their seats and had already begun the test.

"Good of you to join us, Draco," said Bill. "Your test is at your seat."

Draco made his way to his chair, dropping into it rather gratefully, and looked down at the test. Again, he wondered why Bill had told him to fail it. He had been far too chatty with the Gryffindor in the infirmary that Sunday and even the day of the fall. New rule, he thought to himself, watch out for pain meds. He made a note to himself to write it down.

Rule number eight: Avoid pain medications. If they must be used, do so in privacy.

But that didn't solve his problem. As of now, Bill Weasley knew his secret and Draco had actually enjoyed conversing with him, had talked completely too much. He should have yelled for Pomfrey to get the teacher out, he should have clamped his mouth shut and refused to talk. He had kept himself deliberately apart from other people ever since his tutor had told him to keep his genius a secret for fear of someone finding out, and now someone was too close.

He wanted to pull away. He wanted to regain that distance, but loneliness is an emotion that affects even the most conditioned of souls and despite his genius, he knew that he was still a kid deep down. How did Bill put it? Yes, 'a very lonely kid at that'.

If it was just loneliness getting to him, Draco knew without a doubt that he would ace this test right now and maybe even drop the course, but Bill had deliberately baited him with another feeling: curiosity. Draco wanted to know why he had to fail the test. He wanted to know what it was that Bill was finding out at those meetings. Most of all, he was sick of pretending to be what he wasn't, and he wondered what it would be like to have someone to really talk to. Bill knew he was a genius, and he knew that his father was a Death Eater and that Draco had attended Death Eater meetings, but he didn't judge. Draco was curious, yes, and so he continued staring at his test, his mind reeling with all of the thoughts and possibilities.

"Something the matter, Draco?" asked Bill, coming to crouch next to him. Draco realized that he had been staring at the test for a good twenty minutes with his jaw locked and his fists clenched.

"No," said Draco, uncurling his hands.

"Do you want to go back to the infirmary?" asked Bill. "You can take this another time."

His meaning was clear. Whatever the reason Bill wanted Draco to fail the test, he was willing to wait if Draco was still injured. It was then that Draco made his decision.

"No," he said again. "I'm fine."

Bill nodded and moved away. Draco picked up his quill and began to fill in answers.

After class, Draco went straight to the Slytherin Common room and sat in one of the large green armchairs in front of the fire. His mind was still in conflict from the test and he couldn't silence his thought no matter how much he repeated silently 'It's over now, I can't change it'.

"Awww, just look at you," said Pansy, coming to sit on the armrest of the chair. She leaned over him, and because her school shirt was unbuttoned to a rather low point, she showed off her assets very well. She really was a beautiful girl. She flipped her long black hair over her shoulder and leaned in a little more. "How was your day, Draco?"

He smirked up at her. They had never really dated (with a girl like Pansy, it wasn't necessary to actually date), but Draco didn't mind her flirtations, and responded in kind.

"Bloody awful, until you showed up," he said.

She rewarded him with a slow, rather seductive smile, and leaned even closer to lay a kiss on his cheek. Draco turned into it, like she had been hoping he would, and the next few minutes caused the younger children, who still believed in cooties, to be thoroughly disgusted. When Pansy finally pulled back and sashayed away, Draco did not follow, but leaned back with a rather self-satisfied smirk on his face and stared back to the fire. His mind was diverted, and calm again, which was what he had been hoping for.

The next day went by quickly. Draco used his injury to his advantage in every class, and made a rather big deal about it. Snape made Potter and Granger fetch all of his things, and also stir his cauldron because he 'couldn't stand for long periods of time'. Potter initially had been staring at him rather curiously as no doubt he realized that Draco had saved his life, but with a few well placed comments, Draco had him believing that Harry had been the one to fall into him.

The next day went by slowly and Draco was particularly anxious to know the reason Bill had asked him to fail the test. Once everyone was in the class, Bill began handing back the tests and Draco received his with a note that said 'See me after class' and underneath it was a 'T'.

Draco looked up in hopes to catch Bill's eye, but the red-haired man ignored him, and Draco knew that it was on purpose. So he glared and sulked in his chair until the end of class, which seemed even longer than usual, and Draco was annoyed that he was this interested in what the Professor had to say.

"And you are all dismissed," said Bill, "but I need to speak to you Draco."

Granger shot a triumphant smirk at him, as she had seen his test score and had hid a giggle behind her hand, and left, no doubt anxious to tell the other two-thirds of the Golden Trio that Draco Malfoy had failed a test, with a T.

Draco glared and slumped slightly in his seat as the class filed out, watching Bill out of the corner of his eye, his body slightly tense, not knowing what to expect. Bill was flipping through a few papers, lounging in his seat, occasionally glancing up to check the students' progress. As it was the last class of the day and as they had just gotten a test back, the students stopped to chat for a few moments, and so it took a while for the class to file out.

Draco heard the door swing shut behind him, and Bill sat up quickly, pulled something out of his drawer, and walked over to place it on Draco's desk. Draco stared at the package wrapped in blue paper.

"Is this some sort of holiday I don't know of?" he asked, suspiciously eyeing the blue paper package.

Bill pulled out the chair from the desk in front of Draco and straddled it so that he was facing Draco.

"It's not going to bite," said the Professor smiling a little at him. Normally the smile would anger Draco, but he had a feeling that although Bill might be silently laughing at him, it wasn't in spite or cruelty.

"What is it?" Draco asked, not reaching for it. He had received presents before, but those were on Christmas or his birthday, and as he got older he began buying his own presents and was reimbursed for his purchases from his father. The idea of getting someone a gift just for the heck of it was foreign to him, especially to someone who wasn't family or even a friend.

"For a genius, you really can be dense sometimes," said Bill. "You're supposed to open it and find out."

Draco picked up the package, figuring by the shape that it was a book of sorts, and turned it over to find the place where the paper was taped. He suddenly felt awkward. How was one supposed to open a gift? At home, the wrapping was done at the shops and would simply come off at the tug of a ribbon, he had never torn paper before, and was he supposed to just rip into it?

He settled for sliding his finger under the spell-o-tape and pulling the paper away. It was a journal with a cover of soft brown leather with tiny gold runes all along the edges in four different dialects. It read 'Language is the means by which we learn, laugh, and love." In the middle of the cover was a small imprinted dragon.

Draco ran his hand along the script, and then flipped it open. Inside was an index of the six major Ancient Runes and their alphabetical code along with the basic grammar rules. There was a section of transfer paper to allow tracings of the original scripts and then the rest was comprised of blank pages with faint gold lines for writing. It was a translator's journal.

He looked up to see Bill studying him with an unreadable expression on his face, and suddenly he realized that the polite thing to do would be to thank him for the journal.

"I, uh," he said, casting around for the words, but Bill cut him off.

"I suppose your wondering why I wanted you to fail your test," he said, changing the topic and Draco nodded, grateful for the switch. "As of now," said Bill, "you are taking extra sessions Thursday after class because your summer class didn't cover all of the necessary dialects, which is why you failed the test."

"Is that so," said Draco, wondering where this was going.

"It is," said Bill, "but of course, that's just the cover story. The truth is, we're going to be working on a little project of mine."

"Which is?" prodded Draco.

"This," said Bill getting up and pulling out a blackboard on wheels from the corner of the classroom. He flipped the board over so that the clean surface was replaced with a set of Ancient Runes.

Draco got up and walked over to the board, trying to determine if he had ever seen the runes before. He hadn't.

"Untranslated?" he asked Bill.

"Yep," said Bill, studying the board as well.

"When were they discovered?"

"Three years ago."

"That recently?" asked Draco in surprise.

"I was on a dig," said Bill. "I found these beside the treasure chamber and copied them over, but I haven't really been able to spend time on it as my job kept me rather busy."

"And now that you're a teacher and a spy you expect the free hours to roll on in?" asked Draco, quirking his eyebrow.

"Well, I have this genius kid in one of my classes," said Bill. "He's a bit of a prat, and has this really bad attitude, but I was hoping he might help me Thursdays after class."

Draco was silent for a minute, thinking it over. The thought of translating a completely new set of Ancient Runes was thrilling, and already he could think of four different algorithms he wanted to throw the glyphs in to see if the would provide a clue in the translations, but it would mean working with Bill.

It wasn't that he didn't like Bill, well, to be completely truthful, the trouble was that he didn't dislike him. Working with Bill was a complete violation of everything he had ever stood for. Not only was he a Gryffindor, but a Weasley and an Order spy, and yet Draco found himself actually getting along with the man and looking forward to his class each week. Draco flashed back to the Malfoy Family Code; there were at least half a dozen rules against becoming friends with such a person. Well, he wasn't following that rule book anymore, and just because he was working with Bill didn't mean they were friends.

"Does it count as extra credit?" he asked finally.

Bill broke into a grin, obviously relieved that Draco had said 'yes' and Draco felt strangely pleased that Bill had cared that much.

"Do you really need extra credit?" Bill countered.

"No," said Draco shrugging. "But I had to see if I could get something out of it."

"Ever the Slytherin, huh?" asked Bill, and it was evident that he didn't mean it as an insult. Draco felt his lips twitch up in response to Bill's infectious smile, and he immediately turned back to the runes, hoping that Bill didn't catch the slip.

"Do you have a basis of translation?" asked Draco, studying the board once again.

"Yeah," said Bill. He went over to his desk and pulled out a notebook then tossed it to him. Draco caught it and flipped open the first page. He stared at the notebook, then at Bill.

"Are you serious?" he asked. He walked over the nearest desk and sat down, flipping through the pages. He looked back up at Bill. "Do you know what you are proposing?"

Bill smiled at the look of incredulity that must be on his face. "How about you tell me," he said.

"If you're right about this, then it means that this is the key for deciphering the eleven Persian runes," said Draco. "This could be the largest find of the decade."

"Of the century," corrected Bill. "So I take it you're interested?"

"Does Snape hate Potter?" asked Draco, still looking through the book. At Bill's snort of laughter, Draco looked up and realized that he had just said that out loud. He diverted Bill's attention. "So, what dialect is this one?" he asked pointing to one he had seen before but never learned. "It seems important to your translation, and I don't know this one."

Bill pulled the book over to look at the runes, and then began explaining it to him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Bill watched the kid stare at the present, and frowned. It was as if Draco had never seen a gift before, though Bill knew that must not be the case as no doubt Draco's parents could buy him all of London.

"Is this some sort of holiday I don't know of?" Draco finally asked.

Bill pulled out a chair from the desk in front of him and straddled it. There was suspicion in those grey eyes.

"It's not going to bite," said Bill, smilingly slightly at the confused look on the boy's face.

"What is it?" Draco asked, still not reaching for it.

Bill began wondering what sort of Christmas or birthdays the boy had, not to know what a surprise was.

"For a genius, you really can be dense sometimes," said Bill. "You're supposed to open it and find out."

He watched as Draco picked up the package, and turned it over. The pale hands hesitated for a moment, as if unsure on how to get the paper off, and then Draco slid a finger underneath the tape to pry it up. The paper was peeled away, and Draco stared at the book. Bill could see his eyes run over the runes as if he were merely reading a story in English and not Ancient Runes and then his hand brushed over the script and opened the book.

Draco looked up, catching Bill's gaze. "I, uh," he started awkwardly, and Bill knew that Draco was not accustomed to saying 'thank you', and so cut him off.

"I suppose your wondering why I wanted you to fail your test," he said. "As of now, you are taking extra sessions Thursday after class because your summer class didn't cover all of the necessary dialects, which is why you failed the test."

"Is that so," said Draco, the question in his voice.

"It is," said Bill, "but of course, that's just the cover story. The truth is, we're going to be working on a little project of mine."

"Which is?" said Draco in a lordly 'get on with it' tone.

"This," said Bill, hiding his smile by getting up and pulling out the blackboard. He flipped the board over so that the Ancient Runes he had copied from his notebook was facing them.

He watched Draco get up and walk to the board, his grey eyes flickering from one rune to the other, the fingers in his right hand tapping out some pattern with each other.

"Untranslated?" he asked Bill.

"Yep," said Bill, turning his attention to the board.

"When were they discovered?"

"Three years ago."

"That recently?" asked Draco, the surprise evident in his voice.

"I was on a dig," said Bill. "I found these beside the treasure chamber and copied them over, but I haven't really been able to spend time on it as my job kept me rather busy."

"And now that you're a teacher and a spy you expect the free hours to roll on in?" asked Draco, quirking his eyebrow. Bill smiled at the sarcastic comment.

"Well, I have this genius kid in one of my classes," said Bill. "He's a bit of a prat, and has this really bad attitude, but I was hoping he might help me Thursdays after class."

Bill held his breath as Draco fell silent, and risked a glance at the boy. The grey eyes were staring at the board, but not really seeing it. The gaze turned darker and Draco's fingers began tapping in earnest, and Bill noticed some sort of internal debate raging behind the grey cloudy eyes.

Bill could understand the hesitation; he would even understand if Draco left right then and there. It was apparent from conversing with Draco that the kid was confused when it came to matters of the war and blood lines. His interest in Draco was not completely war-related. While Draco would be a valuable asset to the Order, should he so decide, Bill felt a sort of brotherly affection for the kid. As he had five younger brothers, it came easy to Bill to play the confidante and he felt a strange desire to help Draco.

"Does it count as extra credit?" Draco asked finally.

Bill let out the breath he had been holding and grinned at the unexpected quip.

"Do you really need extra credit?" he countered.

"No," said Draco shrugging. "But I had to see if I could get something out of it."

"Ever the Slytherin, huh?" asked Bill. He smiled to show that no offense was meant, and he swore he saw Draco's pale lips quirk up slightly before he turned back to the board.

"Do you have a basis of translation?" asked Draco, changing the subject.

"Yeah," said Bill. He went over to his desk and pulled out a notebook then tossed it to him. Draco caught it deftly and flipped open the first page. Bill watched as Draco blinked at the page, then turned to him with an eyebrow raised.

"Are you serious?" he asked. He walked over the nearest desk and sat down, flipping through the pages. He looked back up at Bill. "Do you know what you are proposing?"

Bill smiled at the look of incredulity on his face. "How about you tell me," he said.

"If you're right about this, then it means that this is the key for deciphering the eleven Persian runes," said Draco. "This could be the largest find of the decade."

"Of the century," corrected Bill. "So I take it you're interested?"

"Does Snape hate Potter?" asked Draco, still looking through the book. Bill tried to hold back the laugh, but it came out as a rather undignified snort. Draco looked up, apparently startled that he had said that aloud, and Bill smothered another laugh.

"So, what dialect is this one?" he asked pointing to one he had seen before but never learned. "It seems important to your translation, and I don't know this one."

Bill spent the next hour teaching Draco the first Persian runes, and it was a thoroughly enjoyable hour. Draco picked things up incredibly quickly and even though Bill knew that he was a genius, it was still astounding to watch. There was even a moment when Draco corrected him on a conjugation of a verb.

When Draco left for dinner, Bill leaned back in his chair, vaguely wondering what his family would say if they knew that he was meeting secretly with 'that Malfoy boy' to translate what may be the linguistic discovery of the century. Oh yes, his family had no love for the Malfoy family, and he was sure that the feeling was mutual though Draco seemed not to mind him so much. He knew Draco held no regard for his youngest brother or for Harry Potter, but that seemed to be more of a personal grudge than general prejudice.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp, searing pain on his left arm. _He_ was calling.

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	11. Rule 9: Patience always pays off

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, but I fixed my bright yellow headphones so I own them again:D

Quinky Dink: Hey, it's great to hear from you again. I'm sorry that I missed your review last chapter, but it takes awhile to get through, so I had already updated when I finally got it, but thanks for reviewing!

Melanie: I'm glad that you like it.

NMS: Thank you very much for your review, and I am glad that you like it so much, here's another chapter.

dbi: Thanks for the review, and I'm glad that you liked the rule. Here's another.

As Always, thanks to my beta!

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Chapter Eleven

_Rule number nine: Patience always pays off._

There was a new code on the board on Tuesday. Draco translated it in his head as Bill began a new dialect. It didn't say much, just 'One is here in school. Someone smuggled it in' and that was that. Draco wondered what 'it' was but didn't have time to ask Bill about it, so he waited until Thursday after class.

"So I read your message on Tuesday," said Draco as he copied the runes they were trying to translate on the board. Bill was watching his progress as the number one mistake that amateur translators made was to standardize the runes into a more writeable form. Normally at this stage, magic could be used to transfer the glyphs from the notebook page onto the board, but in the first stage of transferring, which would be from the ruins of the dig, no magic could be used for fear of bringing down a curse. Bill was teaching him the entire process of translation.

"Is that so," said Bill, noncommittally. "Watch it right there on that glyph, you're squaring the form out."

"It should be square," said Draco, "to be uniform with the other glyphs."

"We would like to think that it is uniform," said Bill, "but we can't make assumptions on our part. Go back and fix it."

Draco rolled his eyes, but did as he was told.

"Good," said Bill. "Now erase it and do it again."

"What?" said Draco.

"You made a mistake and I'm making sure you don't make one again. This copying has to be exact."

Draco sighed and erased the rather large and complex glyph and began re-drawing it, knowing that Bill had a point even though he rarely ever made the same mistake twice.

"So, I read your message," he tried again while drawing part of the glyph that was somewhat reminiscent of an eagle.

"So you said," said Bill, purposefully avoiding the topic.

Draco put the chalk down and turned around. "What's hidden in the school?" he asked.

"Frankly, it's none of your business," said Bill, putting down the notebook and staring right back at him.

"I go to this school," said Draco. "I think it is my business."

"Maybe," said Bill, "but it's nothing you should involve yourself with. You have school work to concentrate on."

"It's nothing really to concentrate on," said Draco, shrugging. "I'm supposing that this thing is of consequence to the Dark Lord?"

"Yes," said Bill, "which is exactly why you shouldn't concern yourself with it. Other people are handling it."

"Like they handled the attack on Beauxbatons?" asked Draco. "That was so well planned that it took a week before word got out that the school was even attacked. Weren't your 'other people' supposed to be in charge of that as well?"

It was true. Beauxbatons had been thoroughly destroyed and although there were few casualties, it took a week before the French Ministry was notified. Later it turned out that the school was attacked as a demand to free the few Death Eaters that had been captured by the French Aurors. The Ministry of Magic in that country had then dropped all charges and released the prisoners in fear of another attack.

"Touché," said Bill. "But you won't change my mind. I would rather that you stay out of it, if only to keep you safe."

"I'm the son of a Death Eater," said Draco. "How safe do you think I am?"

"As of now, your position as an unMarked student is keeping you safe from the Order and your position as Lucius Malfoy's son will keep you safe from the Death Eaters. I would say that you are one of the safest students here, and I would like to keep you that way, if only so that you can decipher this language for me."

Bill shot Draco a grin, and Draco was tempted to return it, but instead turned back to the board.

"Does the Golden Trio know what 'it' is?" he asked. "I know that Granger is in the Order."

"Members of the Order are privy to all of the information I bring," said Bill, not really answering the question.

"But they don't know that you are spying," said Draco.

"What makes you say that?" asked Bill.

"Well, if they knew, they would be hounding you for all sorts of information," said Draco.

"True," said Bill.

Draco finished the glyph and walked over to the notebook Bill was holding, limping slightly. Although his leg was mostly healed, by the end of the day it became rather sore and stiff. He took the notebook from Bill to memorize the next rune then returned to the board and began writing again.

"You haven't been sleeping," he said over his shoulder, not making it a question.

There was silence for a moment, then Bill spoke up. "Are you always this perceptive? I was sure that I had fooled even Dumbledore."

"You haven't yawned or stretched today," said Draco. "Usually in class after getting up you stretch and most people do yawn every now and then. That makes me figure that you haven't been sleeping but don't want anyone to know, so you're hiding all signs of sleepiness."

"Guilty as charged," said Bill, smiling grimly.

"It's the meetings, isn't it?" asked Draco. "Was it a particularly bad one?"

"No," said Bill. "It's just all finally catching up to me. I've never really been one to stomach the sight of blood very well."

"For a spy, you are surprisingly open about your weaknesses," said Draco.

"I'm an open person," said Bill. "Always have been, always will be. I can keep secrets for other people, but never my own. Put me in a room with a person for ten minutes, and they will know my life story."

"Why do you do it?" asked Draco, facing him again and favoring his left leg.

"Do what?" asked Bill.

"Talk so much," said Draco.

"I've always been friendly," said Bill, putting the notebook down and looking rather thoughtful, "even as a child. I've also noticed that most people think that they have to keep certain things back about themselves to be liked better."

"Like fears, or evil deeds," said Draco.

"Yes," said Bill, "but also personality quirks, or opinions they have. I have always thought it a great flaw in people to hide who they really are, so I go out of my way to be completely and brutally honest with most people so that they don't have to be so insecure. That way, I can know the true them and it also helps me figure out my own feelings on subjects."

Draco cocked his head to the side, his fingers tapping out their pattern in double time. "It's refreshing," he said after awhile. "I come from a society where most people are hidden by masks and disguises, so it's rare to come across a true moment of honesty."

"You are hidden by a disguise as well," said Bill. "I think you are hidden even more so than others. You are a true deceiver."

"As a Slytherin, I thank you," said Draco, and Bill laughed.

The session ended a few minutes later once Draco had successfully transferred all of the runes to Bill's high standard, and Draco went to the library in hopes of discovering the Golden Trio. He figured that if Granger knew what was hidden in the school then she would tell the others and most likely she would be researching the topic, but he had no such luck.

He did, however, overhear them the next day in Potions. Granger was reprimanding both the boys for not taking 'it' seriously and that they needed to meet at the library. When the boys protested that it was a Friday evening, she hushed them with a glare, and that was that.

Draco smirked to himself, told Professor Snape that his leg was hurting again and so he could not retrieve the dragonfly wings in front of the class, and Snape sent Weasley to get them.

Once classes were done for the day, Draco staked out the library. He pretended to be cramming information for the long Transfiguration essay due early next week, even though the essay was finished and in his desk drawer. He waited even after the students and librarian left for supper, but he didn't move, and not ten minutes later Granger, Potter, and Weasley made an entrance.

Rule number nine: Patience always pays off.

Draco made sure that his head was down and that he appeared to be concentrating on the assignment, not even aware of their presence. He looked at them through his peripheral vision, watching as Granger took a large book from the restricted section with a spell while Potter and Weasley stood guard to make sure no one saw the illicit act.

Draco was inwardly surprised at Granger for figuring that out, and he was slightly impressed as he never thought that she would have the guts to pull that off, even though she was smart enough. He watched as she opened the book to a page somewhere in the middle and the three began whispering, too quietly for him to listen in.

He mentally swore, but watched to see if they were looking up something else, but they seemed to be concentrating on that one page. Well, that was all he needed to know and he closed the books on the table and left them there for the librarian to put away. Merlin knew how crazed that woman got when the students put away the books on their own. He put the rest of his things in his bag and left for his room.

He was back five hours later wearing the camouflaging charm that wasn't as good as an invisibility cloak, but still served its purpose. He knew where Granger had taken the book out, and so went straight for that shelf, spotting the large black book.

The charms on the restricted section were not perfect. Granger had gotten the book off by casting a silencing spell on the entire shelf, but there was another way. Just like in Muggle computers and networks, there was always a back door for administrators to go in, or in this case, Mr. Filch.

Filch was in charge of cleaning the library, and to do so, he needed to get into the restricted section to dust now and then. Because Filch was a Squib, he needed a non-magical way to gain access. Draco ran his fingers under the second shelf, and slid the tiny switch he felt there to the left. He then took the book, and everything was silent, the alarm on the entire bookcase being disabled. It really was too easy to get in, but then again, usually the librarian got the restricted books for the student in need, and so very few people wandered down those aisles.

He moved over to the nearest table and set the book on its spine, holding it there with his right hand, while his left lightly tapped the pages with his wand. The book slammed open, the pages flipping wildly by some unseen force until they came to a halt.

Draco grinned; he had thought it was such a book. Books that dealt in Dark Magic, such as this one, usually had a charm that allowed the user to flip to the last page read as a guarantee that no one would go snooping through it, or at least so that the next person who read it (which was usually the owner) could see what had been the last page looked at. In this case, the book turned to the page that the Golden Trio had been studying. Draco peered down at the page, then stared at it in shock.

'Horcruxes', the page read 'the act of splitting one's soul and hiding a piece in an object, whether inanimate, or living. The splitting of a soul requires murder and the horcrux insures that the spirit lives even after the body is destroyed.'

The book did not go into further detail, but is really wasn't necessary. Draco could figure out what this meant; the Dark Lord had split his soul. The only thing that was a slight bit worrying was that Bill's code had read 'One is here in school', not 'it'. The book talked of having only one horcrux, and Draco was led to believe from Bill's message that there was more than one.

He put the book back on the shelf and re-activated the alarm, then went back to his room, took off the camouflage charm, and lay on his bed, staring into the dark. He wondered how many there were. He wondered what would happen if the Dark Lord got them all back. He wondered mostly what he would do on that night after school.

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Bill sat in the Headmasters office Friday afternoon with a teacup in his hand.

"No one mentioned the bat attack," he said to the Headmaster. "The Dark Lord wasn't even gloating about it, which makes me think that he didn't plan it."

"Does it now?" asked the Headmaster thoughtfully, sucking on a lemon drop.

"The paper only mentioned the fact that there was a vampire bat, nothing about the Dark Mark, and so I don't think Voldemort was even aware of it."

"An interesting proposition," said Dumbledore. "How then do you think it got there?"

"Perhaps it wasn't of Voldemort's bidding, but a Death Eater who planned it. Look at the World Cup two years ago. That was for show and planned by Death Eaters rather than Voldemort."

"An interesting spin on such events," said Dumbledore. "I suppose the only way we will find out if this is true is if we release the information that the bat did have the Dark Mark burned onto its chest."

"And yet if we do that we are sure to incite mass riot," said Bill. "I'll just have to be sure to pay even closer attention during the meetings to see if any one mentions it."

Bill sipped his tea, then spoke up again. "Stevick gave a lesson on wards right before the attack," he said. "Do you think he had anything to do with it?"

"He could," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "But all we have is circumstantial evidence. Just watch yourself around him."

"Will do, Headmaster," said Bill. "Will do."

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So, it's one of my shorter chapters, but I promise to update soon. If you liked it, or are looking forward to the next chapter, please review!


	12. Rule 10: Be prepared to fight

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I don't even own a boyfriend and its Valentines Day out there tomorrow, but you know what? I'm an independent woman, and can buy my own chocolates, so all of you single girls out there facing the worse day to be single on, all the more power to you, babes! Rock on!

Thanks to:

shippocutie: thanks for the review, and I updated!

dbi: I'm glad that you like the Draco and Bill interactions, here some more

GREMLIN: lol!

Quinky-Dink: ewww, sweaty man hands, here's another chapter to get you through, and while some of the info Draco stores away may not be used to actually do something, it helps him figure out people, but some of the info is important, thanks for the review

NMS: Here is some action for you, just like you wanted

And as always, thanks to my amazing beta!

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Chapter Twelve

_Rule number ten: Be prepared to fight in all forms of combat._

It was December now. The snow that had been missing all of November finally came with a vengeance to the point where outside classes were cancelled for two days straight. But then the weather settled down and the sun came out and reflected blindingly on the freshly fallen snow.

Draco and Bill had gotten nowhere on the new dialect, although they had eliminated quite a few possibilities but Draco didn't mind too badly. He had begun to look forward to the hour a week where he could drop his façade and be the undecided child genius he was.

He was also beginning to like the red-haired professor, something that unnerved him because he found himself relaxing more and, consequentially, talking more. He supposed it had to do something with the fact that Bill never pried. When he asked questions about Draco it was because he genuinely wanted to know, not because he was using the information for his own purposes. He was also incredibly open with Draco, telling stories of his own, and so Draco found himself opening up to Bill.

"So, does your mother know that you're so smart?" asked Bill as he flipped through a book.

"Why do you want to know?" asked Draco, slightly defensively, but Bill was used to his general distrust of the world now and didn't get offended.

"Just curious," he said. "It seems like a hard thing to hide from a mother."

"My mother is a lot of things," said Draco guardedly, "and attentive to me is not one of them."

"But surely she noticed it when you were young," said Bill. "My mother practically smothered me when I was little and it got quite irritating after awhile. She still does every so often, but usually just to bug me about my long hair. I will not go near her when she has a pair of scissors in her hands for fear she'll just grab me and chop away."

Draco smirked at that mental picture.

"So, your mother didn't notice," said Bill, and Draco felt his mouth speaking before he had consciously decided to share the story.

"The first time I saw my mother was when I was five," he said. "I was shown pictures of her, and occasionally glimpsed her leaving the house, but the first time I saw her up close was when we had a family photo taken of us. My grand-mère loves to tell me what a horrible mother Narcissa is. When I was born, and when the Healers gave me to mother, she refused to hold me or to feed me. She only held me when she took me home in our carriage, but as soon as she got home she gave me to Lucius and that was that."

"You serious?" asked Bill, staring at him, and Draco shrugged, again cursing his mouth.

Bill was obviously shocked because he wasn't saying anything, though it looked like he wanted to. Draco took pity on him and decided that since he had spilled this much already, he may as well explain to Bill. He doubted that it would stay secret for long anyways; not when he had a professor like Bill.

"You have to realize that my mother didn't want a baby, she didn't even want to get married, she's far too loose to be tied down, but my father was infatuated with her, and he was rich and on top of the social circle. She married him and gave him a male heir, and that was that. He went on with his life in business and she went on with her activities though much more discretely. She's not at home a lot."

"That's terrible," said Bill. "I have no clue what I would do in that position."

Draco shrugged. "It gives me a reason to be a prat," he said. "Bad home life and all." He said it flippantly, hoping to distill some of the concern on Bill's face, but the red-haired man just looked even more worried.

"Is it really bad?" he asked.

Draco shook his head and went on to explain again. "I'm home alone a lot, but that's it. Narcissa, when she is home, is too drunk or high on pleasure potions to do anything, and Lucius is usually gone on business, or on the run from the Ministry," he added as an after thought.

"It's still terrible," said Bill. "My mother, though sometimes she's a little too involved in my life, was always at home and cooking or cleaning or reading to us. She was always worrying about us too. When I went home for break in my first year, she cried the entire time and almost didn't let me go back."

Bill laughed at the memory, and Draco smiled slightly as well.

"It sounds nice," he said, truthfully.

"What about Lucius then?" asked Bill. "Does he know?"

Draco didn't say anything, but stared at the paper in front of him, his fingers increasing their pace in the 1-3-2-4 pattern. He didn't get along with his father, 'resented' him was the word, but somewhere deep down he cared for his father, even though they didn't have the best of relationships, and so he was rather sensitive about the subject.

Normally, mention of his father alone gave him license to attack the person who was foolish enough to speak Lucius' name, but with Bill, he knew that he hadn't said it out of spite or hate, but genuine curiosity, and so he refrained from hexing him, not to mention he'd get expelled if he did.

The silence grew and became strained, and Draco could feel his muscles tightening at the tension in the room, tighten to the point of almost trembling, but Bill laid a hand on his shoulder. He tried to jerk away, but Bill's hand was authoritative in its grip.

"You don't have to answer, you know," he said, gently. "You can just tell me to shove off if you want. I'm not here to pry, and I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable."

Draco kept his gaze on the papers in front of him, but Bill tapped his shoulder lightly and he looked up automatically. Bill's eyes were kind and understanding.

"Do you want me to change the subject?" he asked, not dropping the topic until Draco actually responded.

Draco knew what he was doing, but he was still surprised at this type of confrontation. Bill was giving him a way out, but he still had to admit that he didn't want to talk about. It was what some psychologists would do, make him admit that he had a problem, but letting him deal with it later because it was too much right then.

He pulled his eyes away from Bill's gaze, looked back down at the papers and nodded.

"I don't know what that means, Draco," said Bill. "You have to say it. What do you want me to do?"

He should have known he wouldn't get away with a non-verbal answer.

"Change the subject," said Draco quietly, and to his credit, Bill didn't say 'Wasn't that easy?' or 'Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?' Instead, he changed the subject.

"Looking forward to the holidays?"

Draco relaxed. "Not really," he said, and continued to speak to distill any remaining tension. "I'm staying here. Narcissa is off who knows where, and Lucius is most likely out of the country."

"You don't celebrate Christmas then?" asked Bill.

"When did when we were still in France," said Draco, "but that was because my grand-mère and relatives were there. When we moved here after my grand-mère died, Lucius had business more often, and Narcissa didn't have a reason to stay for the holidays. Now I just go and buy what I want, and I get reimbursed for it. Bought myself a Firebolt for my birthday last summer, and I may get that new broom this Christmas, the Meteor. It looks pretty fast."

"How long did you live in France?" asked Bill.

"Until I was eight," said Draco.

"Was it hard learning another language like that?"

"Not really," said Draco, "but I am a genius."

Bill laughed at that, and Draco continued.

"It was hard at first having to translate everything that I said, but now it's just automatic. I still sometimes think in French though, do you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," said Bill. "Sometimes I get so used to translating things that I write normal letters in runes, and then remember that no one else knows what they mean."

Draco smirked at that, though it was a softer smirk that could be taken as a smile. They worked in companionable silence until the hour was up.

On Friday, everyone was in such an excitable mood because of the holidays that they got very little done in class, and NEWT DADA, which was in the afternoon, was in such an uproar, that Stevick threatened to not pass out the partner quizzes he had graded the other day and give them all T's. He very nearly kept his promise, finally handing out the quizzes as the bell rang to signal the end of class.

Draco had been paired with Granger, and Stevick handed back the quiz to her, and Granger immediately left with Potter and Weasley, no doubt heading to their dorm to pack. As Draco needed to know his grade so that he could keep his E average, he grabbed his bag and ran after her, muttering a curse under his breath.

"Granger!" he yelled after her, seeing her skip down the hall with the other members of the Golden trio at her side. "Granger!"

She stopped and turned, Harry and Ron glowering as he came up to them.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" demanded Ron.

"Nothing from you, Weasel, you couldn't afford anything," said Draco cruelly. "I was talking to Granger."

"Well, you can talk just as fine to us," said Potter, stepping in front of her protectively.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Really, Potty," he sneered. "It's not like I'm going to portkey her to the Dark Lord. I merely want to know what we got on the partner quiz she decided not to show me."

Ron turned to Hermione in disgust. "You were partners with him?" he demanded.

"Yes," said Granger, rather tightly. "You and Harry weren't there that class."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "She didn't tell you?"

"I swear Malfoy," Ron started, his face turning into a threatening scowl. "If you did anything-"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Ron," said Hermione, exasperated. "I didn't tell you because then you would have gone all crazy like you are now and would have made things out to be worse than they are."

"But," spluttered Ron, "you were partners with him? What if he had tried something!"

"Or maybe she didn't tell you because she _wanted_ me to try something," suggested Draco, a million connotations in his voice.

"That's disgusting!" cried Hermione. "You sick, perverted pig!"

"Don't worry," said Draco. "I think it's disgusting as well. Just sitting next to you is torture, so what did we get?"

"Like I'm going to tell you after that?" asked Hermione. She whirled around to walk away.

"Granger," Draco started. He really needed to know what he got on that quiz. He reached out and placed a hand on her arm, stopping her from moving, but she screamed at the contact, obviously expecting something worse, and Ron and Harry reacted instantly.

Harry wrenched him away from the girl and shoved him up against the wall. Ron came at him swinging, and Draco simply ducked out of the way, letting Ron's hand smash into the stone. Ron gave a hoarse cry and dropped; Harry launched himself at Draco and the two went tumbling to the floor. Students screamed and gathered around as Draco flipped Harry off of him, and then straddled Harry, who was face down on the floor, and pinned his arm behind his back, jerking it high so that it was near the point of breaking.

"Don't move, Potter," he snarled, "or I will snap your arm like the twig it is."

He didn't notice Ron had recovered until a fist punched him square in the mouth. Draco rolled off of Harry, jumped to his feet, and immediately crouched in a fighting stance. Ron came at him again, not bothering to keep his center of gravity low, and Draco put his self-defense skills into practice.

Rule number ten: Be prepared to fight in all forms of combat.

He vaguely heard shouts to stop, but they were covered by the students half of whom were chanting 'Fight! Fight! Fight!' and the others were yelling on encouragements. A few first years were crying.

He leaned into Ron's attack so that his shoulder hit the other boy's gut. A simple twist of his torso sent the Weasley over his shoulder, and he turned to dodge the punch Harry sent at him. He sent his own punch, connecting with Harry's nose, and Harry grunted and swung back. Potter's fist went over his shoulder, he grabbed the outstretched arm, and with a yank and another twist, sent the Boy-Who-Lived to the ground, but Harry was stronger than he suspected, and it took him a moment more than he calculated to actually get the boy on the ground.

That extra moment meant that Ron, who had picked himself off of the ground, had a clear shot at his face, and he had just turned to see the fist coming and drew his wand, when strong arms caught him up and twisted him away. He could feel the impact of Ron's fist on the arm that was pulling him away, and then McGonagall's sharp voice cut through the chaos.

"Everyone go back to your rooms!" she ordered.

Draco pulled roughly away from the arms and turned to see none other than Bill Weasley staring at him in concern.

"You alright, Draco?" Bill asked.

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Bill had been walking down the hall, getting jostled by students excitedly running to catch up with their friends or hurrying to the dormitories to pack for tomorrow. He had heard a girl scream and tried to run forward, but students immediately began clamoring to get to the source of the commotion.

As he was taller than the average student he was able to make out the blond head of Draco Malfoy being shoved against a wall by Harry. Draco ducked when Ron swung for him, and then jumped Harry and the two tumbled to the ground.

He wasn't able to make out quite what happened, but Ron moved in and Draco got to his feet with blood dripping from his lips. Draco immediately crouched in a fighter's stance while Ron went at him.

"Stop it right there, Ronald!" Bill yelled. "You too, Draco!"

They didn't heed him, or they couldn't hear him over the shouts of the students. Bill began pushing his way forward through the students which was worse than wading through an enchanted bog. He had almost made his way through when Draco sent Harry to the ground, but then Ron took a swing at Draco's face, Draco whipped out his wand, and Bill burst from the crowd, not having time to stop his brother, but managing to wrap his arms around Draco and pull him away from the fight. Ron's fist connected with his arm and he bit back a curse; he would have a bruise there later.

Bill presence caused Ron and Harry to pull up short from attacking Draco again and then McGonagall was there, sending kids to their rooms in a sharp, commanding voice. Draco roughly pushed his arms off and turned to him, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of him.

"You alright, Draco?" Bill asked. Draco just stared, obviously taken off guard as the grey eyes reflected surprise, but then they clouded over again.

"Yeah," said Draco, combing his hand through his hair and straightening the white-blond locks that were, at this point in their growth, decidedly shaggy. Bill had to be impressed that in the four seconds it took Draco to fix his hair, he also went from an adrenaline high from the fight to perfectly composed.

"Your lip is bleeding," Bill pointed out as he doubted that Draco realized it.

Draco reached up to touch his split lip and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand completely nonchalantly.

McGonagall ushered the four students into an empty class, and then gestured Bill in as well. He closed the door behind them and listened to McGonagall rant.

"This behavior is completely shocking, and two of you are Prefects at that. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, and fifty points off Slytherin, and a hundred off of Gryffindor. Now I want to know exactly what happened, and you had better pray that your actions don't cause me to take away your Prefects' badges as well."

It was apparent that his younger brother was outraged at that.

"A hundred points, Professor!" he objected.

"Fifty for each of you," said McGonagall. "Now what exactly happened?"

"Malfoy attacked Hermione," said Ron, glaring at the blond.

"I see," said McGonagall. "Bill, perhaps you would like to try your hand at getting to the bottom of your first school-hall brawl as an instructor?"

Bill looked at her, startled, but she just gave him an encouraging smile.

"Draco," said Bill. "What happened?"

The blond looked up from languidly studying his nails, obviously startled that Bill would ask his side of the story.

"I wanted to know my grade on the partner quiz Stevick handed back. I confronted Granger, insults were exchanged, and then Potter and Weasley here attacked me," he said, shrugging as if it really didn't matter.

"You hurt Hermione!" Ron accused.

"She was walking away," said Draco. "I reached out to stop her. That was it."

Bill turned to the girl who was biting her lip nervously.

"Hermione?" he asked.

"He didn't hurt me," she allowed. "I was startled and I screamed."

"I think we over-reacted," said Harry, his cheeks reddening slightly.

"I think so too," said McGonagall gravely. "Harry, Ron, two weeks of detention when you get back, Malfoy, you will have to go home over break."

"Can't," said Draco, returning his gaze to his fingernails, and looking extremely bored.

"What do you mean 'can't'?" asked McGonagall rather sharply.

Draco heaved a sigh, as if upset that he actually had to take the effort of explaining and drew his gaze to the teachers.

"Mother is abroad for the holidays, and Father, due to recent circumstances, is away as well. The Manor is empty for the holidays and as I am still a minor, you can't send me home unsupervised."

"Apparently you can't stay here unsupervised without drawing your wand on your classmates," said McGonagall.

The grey eyes flashed once, but it was almost imperceptible.

"Yes, well most people do have a desire to avoid grievous bodily harm," Draco drawled.

McGonagall frowned, but ignored the comment. "Are you sure that your parents cannot be contacted?"

"Quite," said Draco shortly, dismissing the notion with a wave of his hand.

"Decided that they can't stand you either, Malfoy?" asked Ron.

"Ronald, shut it," said Bill, thinking. "Draco, since you can't go home, but because you can't be entirely unsupervised, you'll be having detention over break with Hagrid, he could always use an extra hand."

Something unreadable flickered in the grey eyes, and then was gone; Bill continued.

"You'll join him after lunch each day, except for Christmas. Now Hermione, could you please tell Draco his grade?"

"O," said Hermione.

"Good," said Bill. "Now you are dismissed and no more fighting."

The 'Golden Trio', as Draco called them, left, and McGonagall did too, smiling approvingly at him. Draco stayed with a determined look on his face. Once the door swung shut, Bill turned to him.

"What was that?" he asked, referring to Draco's bored act.

"What was that?" Draco repeated, incredulous. "What was _that_?" he returned, gesturing to Bill angrily. "I can't be unsupervised? I'm a bloody genius and you think that I can't be alone for two weeks? I've spent entire summers home alone!"

"You drew your wand," said Bill evenly.

"They bloody started it!" said Draco.

"And you were going to escalate it," said Bill. "And you know that the punishment is completely fair, so don't even try to blame me."

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but checked himself and composed himself in a second flat. "I suppose," he said grudgingly. "But Hagrid?"

"What about him?" asked Bill.

"He's so…stupid," said Draco, getting a look of disgust on his face.

"You don't like him," said Bill. "Why?"

"He's unrefined and coarse and…I don't know," said Draco, getting frustrated with his inability to communicate the reason of his revulsion.

"Is it because he's half-giant?" asked Bill, and Draco actually looked a little affronted.

"No," he said. "It's just that…I was probably smarter than him when I was two, and for him to be a teacher when I'm smarter is ridiculous!"

"Draco," said Bill, "you're smarter than every teacher here."

Draco blinked at him, as if he had never thought of that before.

"You're smarter than me," said Bill. "Do you dislike me?"

"I want to," said Draco, more honestly than he obviously intended, because his eyes darkened and he looked away.

Bill ignored that remark, but filed it away for further contemplation. "I know that Hagrid can come off as slow, maybe even stupid, but you can't just look at the words that come out of his mouth. Just, try to look a little deeper, alright? That's all I ask."

"Fine," Draco muttered, still not meeting his gaze, but his whole body was straining with tension and his fingers flew in that 1-3-2-4 pattern.

"Thank you," said Bill sincerely, "and now enough about that. What exactly were you doing with McGonagall?"

"What?" asked Draco, turning to look at him.

"The whole 'checking your nails' thing," said Bill, and Draco smirked slightly.

"It's how I annoy McGonagall," he said. "The whole 'I-am-so-much-better-than-this-I-am-not-even-going-to-pay-attention attitude' really gets to her."

"I could tell," said Bill. "You can really get them to hate you."

Draco looked slightly pleased at that. "It's a gift," he said, and Bill just shook his head.

"I was actually looking for you before your little tussle in the hall," said Bill.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah," said Bill, pulling out a small box from the pocket of his robes. He tossed it to Draco, who caught it, and stared at the green paper.

"You bought me a Christmas present?" he said, sounding both amused and surprised at the same time.

"Well, you had to have one that you didn't pay for yourself," said Bill. "In fact, I seriously doubt that you'd be able to buy that particular present at all. It's not really in the shops. Well, Happy Christmas," he said, not waiting for a 'thank you' since Draco hardly ever showed gratitude and he didn't really want a thank you if it meant that Draco would feel uncomfortable. He headed for the door and pulled it open.

"There's no 'Wait until Christmas to open'?" Draco called after him.

Bill turned, and as he was a spy and used to noticing details, he had become rather adept at reading the imperceptible changes in the grey eyes, even though Draco's face was perfectly composed. There was confusion in Draco's eyes, but it was more than confusion, it was an uncertainty that bordered on panic, as if Draco had finally come up against something that he truly did not understand,

"No," said Bill, knowing that while Draco didn't understand it now, in time he would. He was a genius, remember, and that meant there was hope for the kid after all. He gave Draco a boyish grin. "It takes away the fun."

He left, leaving the blond teenager staring after him.

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Yay for Bill! Now, if you liked the chapter **or **if you are wearing blue jeans, you need to review. Don't hate me if it takes awhile for the next chapter, I've got a bundle of work to do, stupid profs, lol.


	13. Rule 11: Never get blindsided by kindess

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own the cold that has been plaguing me for this past week, although I've started to share with my dorm mates.

Thanks to:

Mask: oooo, a present for me?  
Wildlyobsessed: thanks for the review, and I'm glad you like the characterization of Draco  
Gremlin: thanks for the review, and yes, Harry and Ron do over react a lot  
Ran: Thanks, I really appreciate the review, and sorry it took so long to update  
Powerhouse: sorry it was a long update, but thanks for the review  
Pandora: YES! You got it with the title, I'm so happy you mentioned it! And thanks for the review, it made my day :-D  
Natalie: A happy reviewer means a happy writer, we live to serve the masses, thanks for the review  
NMS: thanks for reviewing, and you def. got it right, Draco does get tense when he's not in control of the situation, awesome insight, thanks again  
QuinkyDink: Yep, Bill's a smart guy being able to read Draco, and the fight scenes are hard because I know nothing about fighting, oh well, thanks for reviewing  
Chibi-belze: you've got great English, much better than my Spanish, and I took a long time updating due to nasty exams and getting ill, but here's the next chapter  
Rachel: thank you so much, I'm glad that you think its original

And my amazing beta!

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_Rule number eleven: Never get blindsided by kindness. Never. _

Draco stared after Bill until the professor was out of sight, completely flummoxed. The professor had corrected him and praised him, given him detention and a Christmas gift, all in the space of five minutes or less. Yes, a Christmas gift. Bill, the Ancient Runes Professor, Gryffindor Head Boy, Order spy, and a Weasley had just given him a Christmas gift.

He had coped with receiving the journal without too many raging questions inside. He had been able to write it off as just a bribe for Bill to get him to help him with the dialect (even though he knew that wasn't the case), but this gift brought back all of those questions.

Draco realized he was staring into space, snapped himself out of it, and looked down at the gift in his hand. Perhaps he should wait until Christmas Day to open the gift, as that was the day usually reserved for presents, but, at the same time, he was looking at probably the only real Christmas gift he would get that year.

He quickly shut the door and opened the gift, this time actually ripping into the paper, and pulled out a plain, unmarked box. He pulled the top off with an emotion some might call excitement, but what he would call merely 'slight anticipation', and immediately knew what Bill meant about not being able to get it in stores.

It was an ivory charm cut in a rectangular shape. On one side was carved the sun-fire symbol of the Syrian clan of wizards, and on the other was the Syrian glyph for 'deceiver'. He picked up the charm, seeing that it was on a black leather strap with slipknots to tighten it to the desired length.

The charm must have come straight from an ancient treasure vault, and while it had no real monetary value (it was more of a cultural and historical piece), it was still rare, plus curse-breakers were only allowed to take a few small pieces from each vault they opened. Most curse-breakers displayed their various conquests but Bill had given this to him. There was a strange warm feeling that grew inside him at that realization.

He slipped the necklace over his head, and tightened it so that it was close to his throat. His fingers explored the grooves of the charm and he smiled when he realized that when he had put it on, it had come to rest with the 'deceiver' side facing out.

When he went to bed that night, he started a list. He figured that he should probably get something for Bill in return, even though Bill wasn't expecting anything in return. That, actually, was part of the reason he wanted to get him something, but he wasn't quite sure what, hence the list.

On Saturday morning the students who were leaving were ushered down to the platform, and Draco snuck out with the bustle and then slipped off to Hogsmeade. He shied away from the more popular shops, not wanting to be recognized, but also knowing that there was probably very little that Bill would even like there.

He found himself wandering the backstreets, glancing in the dusty shop windows and then passing by again. He finally found a store that caught his interest on a nondescript corner and entered. The shop was dark and cluttered, but filled with an assortment of old, odd items, and that was what caught Draco's attention.

The store was empty of any customers, and so Draco wandered the aisles and tables of miscellaneous knick-knacks, picking up a few trinkets here and there and then putting them back down. He found the perfect gift on an especially cluttered table. They were five books, all old from the look of it, but in rather good condition because the covers were made of polished wood and gold overlay and not cloth or leather. They were ancient tales written in their original ancients runes, and not only that, Draco suspected that they were a few of the first written tomes of their kind.

Draco could read three of the books, recognized the fourth, but had no clue about the fifth. He wondered if it was even translated, but even if it wasn't, no doubt Bill would love it. The books were obviously part of series, being the same height and width, and with complementary covers, bound together by a gold rope.

He took the books up to the counter and rang the bell. A woman appeared from the door behind the counter. She was old, that much was evident from her long silver hair and wrinkled tan skin, but she moved with the grace of a woman forty years younger.

"D'ye wish to purchase them, or merely ask what they say?" she asked in a light accent.

"Purchase them," said Draco, "I know what they say."

"Do ye now?" she asked, running an appraising eye over him. "And how is that?"

"I study," said Draco shortly, and set the short stack of galleons down on the counter's dusty surface.

"I meant no offense," said the woman, laughing slightly in a musical way. "I can have them delivered for ye and have 'em arrive Christmas Day, if ye would like."

Draco hesitated, then handed the books over.

"Write the name here," said the woman, sliding over a piece of parchment. "And then add any message ye would like to include on this piece."

Draco filled out the address form, simply putting in 'Bill Weasley' and then paused at the other parchment before scrawling out a message.

"I thankee," said the woman, and Draco gave her a curt nod before exiting the shop and sneaking back to school by way of the backdoor in the dungeons. He spent the rest of the day in his dorm, brooding about the fact that the next day he had detention.

The next morning he ate breakfast with the staff (all of whom ignored him) and the two other Ravenclaws that were staying (they were sisters, one in seventh year, and another in third) and then retired to his room to work out some algorithms on the dialect Bill was trying to translate.

He was so wrapped in his work that he didn't even notice the time until it was too late for lunch and he had to go straight to Hagrid's. He sighed, pulled on a warm jumper and thick pants along with his dragon hide boots, then slipped on his winter cloak and leather gloves and went outside.

He glared as he tromped through the knee deep snow. Detention, over holiday break, he couldn't believe it. And with Hagrid none the less. The half-giant that was dumber than a baby, but no, he had promised Bill that he would try and be nice. He didn't know why he was keeping his word, rule four in the Malfoy code was 'never be a man of your word' and it made perfect sense to Draco. Sometimes looking out for oneself meant breaking an oath, and he had no problem with it, so why was he now keeping his word?

He decided not to think about it as no doubt he would not like the answer, and concentrated on reaching Hagrid's hut.

The large man was waiting for him outside with his large dog, obviously prepared to do work outside.

"I 'ope you've dressed warmly, Malfoy?" he asked in his deep, slow voice.

Draco nodded, but said nothing.

"Good. Now follow me, and follow me close. Yer gonna be 'elping me in the forest. This way."

Draco silently sighed and trudged after the half-giant who made his way easily through the snow. He was glad once they reached the forest because the snow landed mostly in the trees, so there was only a ground cover of a few inches which made walking a great deal less difficult. Hagrid seemed intent on getting where ever it was he was going and Draco was glad that he wasn't talking. While he was going to try and be civil to Hagrid, that didn't mean he wanted the giant to talk.

Hagrid stopped abruptly and knelt down by a tree, looking at something on the ground. Draco found his curiosity peaking and he came closer to see what it was Hagrid was examining.

"Look 'ere," said the teacher, pointing to a black substance near the base of the tree. His massive fingers reached out to touch the substance and came away covered in what was a thick liquid.

"Thestral blood," said Draco, surprise causing him to speak out loud.

Hagrid turned to him obviously impressed.

"'ow'd you know that?" he asked in his slow voice.

Draco figured he meant 'how did he come to recognize it' but he wasn't going to share that with the giant so he shrugged languidly.

"It appears to be black but when the light hits it, you can actually see that it's a dark red. Plus it has the consistency of tree sap."

"Tha's right," said Hagrid. "Five points ta Slytherin."

The large man got to his feet with little effort, which was surprising for a man of his size and Draco straightened as well, allowing the lapse to hide his shock and confusion at the praise. Didn't Hagrid hate him?

"Wolves attacked our herd," said Hagrid, and Draco nodded. Hogwarts had the only _tame_ thestrals that came straight from the wild, while the Malfoys and many other pureblooded families owned domesticated animals, ones that had been bred for pedigree and shown in races and auctions, much like Muggle horses.

"One of 'em clipped Midnight," Hagrid continued, gazing off into the forest. "I stitched 'er up, but she tore 'em out when she was flyin'. Keep an eye out fer more blood, or a depression in the snow since you can't see 'em."

Draco could see thestrals, but he didn't correct the half-giant and merely followed him deeper into the woods. Draco did what Bill asked him too, and kept an open mind, and he was able to see that the gamekeeper was really quite a good tracker. He watched and picked up tips from the Professor, noticing how the big feet only stepped in the unmarked bit of snow and that he seemed to understand what every broken twig meant. He was, reluctantly, impressed.

"There she is," shouted Hagrid, suddenly loping off into the woods. Draco followed at a slower pace, finally spotting the horse-like creature on the ground by a pile of fallen branches. Hagrid knelt by the thestral, his beefy hands surprisingly gentle as he looked for the injury. He must have found it because the thestral shrieked, trying to rise off of its side and get away. Draco finished the last few meters at a run, skidding to his knees in front of the animal, and catching its face between his hands.

"Whoa," he said, holding the head and preventing the thestral from rising. "Whoa, there, Midnight. Hold, hold." The thestral slowly calmed, and Draco looked over to where Hagrid was frowning, searching frantically in his pack for medicine and bandages.

"Where's the bloody- ah, 'ere it is." The professor pulled out a bottle of blue liquid. Draco recognized the potion as an antibiotic for infection and stimulant for the healing process.

The thestral was obviously not one of the tamer animals, because it bucked wildly, catching Hagrid on the shoulder with a hoof that actually rocked the giant back a bit.

"Hold 'er, Malfoy!" Hagrid yelled as the thestral let out an ear-piercing whinny and jerked again, tearing its head from Draco's grasp and nearly getting to its feet with the aid of its wings.

Hagrid practically wrestled the beast to the ground again, and Draco grabbed the head once more and forced it to the forest floor.

"I'm gonna start stitchin', so 'old tight," Hagrid ground out.

Draco had not been riding thestrals since he was five for nothing. He pinned the thestral's head to the ground with his left forearm, while his right delved into his trouser pocket and pulled out a pocket knife. With his teeth he opened the blade, and then held the handle with his mouth and sliced the palm of his right hand on the exposed razor-sharp edge.

With his injured hand he managed to close the knife and get it back in his pocket, and then he pressed the bleeding cut to the thestral's mouth, just as it was beginning to struggle again. He let the animal lick the wound a few times and then pulled away once the thestral's dark eyes went slightly glassy. Thestrals were attracted to blood, while fresh blood straight from a vein had sedative-like qualities.

He looked over at Hagrid, watching as the professor stitched a half-healed gash with ease and gentleness. He had a way with animals, that was for sure, and Draco was slightly envious. He couldn't abide most creatures, besides thestrals and dragons, and he was hopeless at caring for things. Even his plants in Herbology were a strain to take care of and it was only through his excellent grades on the written portions of tests that he managed to maintain his E average.

The thestral started to stir again and he pressed his hand once more to its mouth, and so continued the treatment every few moments until Hagrid finished and put his things away.

"Din' know you knew 'ow to take care of thestrals, Malfoy," said Hagrid, noticing his bleeding palm and recognizing it for what it was. "Din' know you could see 'em either."

"We have some at the Manor," said Draco. "I like to go riding in the summer." He deliberately didn't address the question in Hagrid's voice, but stood and wiped his bloody palm on his cloak.

"'Ere, sit down," said Hagrid, taking a seat on a fallen tree a bit away from the thestral and patting the trunk beside him. "Lemme fix yer hand."

"I'm fine," said Draco, shortly. There was no way he was going to put himself in the care of a half-giant. His thoughts startled him. A half-giant? Was he really prejudiced?

"Nonsense," said Hagrid. "I'm not gonna bite. Come 'ere."

Draco remembered what he had told Bill, and he cursed the fact that the only person he would consider obeying had told him to look deeper, so he walked forward and sat on the trunk. He let the half-giant take his right hand in his clumsy fingers, but Hagrid, to his surprise, nimbly wiped the cut with a bit of alcohol as easily as he had done with the thestral.

"So, how long 'ave you been able to see 'em?" Hagrid asked.

Draco flashed back to a handsome face with pale skin crowned by white-blond hair identical to his own, but with bright blue eyes. He remembered a flash of green, and then screaming as the body fell, and a small, private funeral.

"When me dad died," said Hagrid abruptly. Draco looked up to see the large man stare off for a moment, pain reflected in the warm brown eyes. "Tha's when I could see 'em."

Draco had never told anyone about his ability to see thestrals, but being with the animals calmed him just like fresh blood calmed them. Plus, it wasn't as if Hagrid was going to tell anyone, and if he did, he was one of the few people who would be totally disregarded.

"I was seven," he said shortly. "I had a brother, illegitimate of course. He was older than me by at least twelve years, the result of a teenage fling of Lucius. He visited one day, telling the family that he was getting married to a Muggle woman." He stopped short and let out a string of French curses. "I don't know why I'm telling you this," he said harshly, trying to pull his hand away. "Look, I'm fine. Let me go."

"Jus' wait 'nother few moments, and I'll have yer all set," said Hagrid. "An' you don' have to talk about it." His brown eyes caught Draco's stormy ones reassuringly and Draco looked away quickly. There had been understanding and empathy in those eyes.

There was silence for a few moments.

"Are you going to take Midnight back?" asked Draco to break the silence.

"Nah," said Hagrid. "She'll 'eal better on 'er own. All she needed was a little 'elp and kindness." He tied the last knot on the makeshift bandage wrapped around Draco's palm. "Let's get walkin'," said the Professor. They headed back in silence before the half-giant spoke again.

"Was he a good brother?" asked he asked and there was kindness in his voice, the sort of kindness that Bill had, and, although Draco wouldn't admit it, he missed the red-haired professor. The only teachers that were left at school were McGonagall and Dumbledore and the former hated him and the latter weirded him out.

"Yeah," said Draco. "He laughed a lot. Liked to play games." Now that he was started he felt compelled to finish the story he had never told anyone. "Anyway, said he was getting married to a Muggle girl. He died with the smile still on his face. He never even saw the Kedavra coming, the only warning was a flash of green light, and then…," Draco trailed off, then turned on Hagrid as they came upon the edge of the forest. "This goes no further than this forest. Even if you did feel like telling, no one would believe you over me, you understand?" He was angry now, angry with himself for letting it spill, angry for letting one act of kindness ruin his façade, and angry that his brother had died in such a senseless fashion.

"I don' tell," said Hagrid evenly.

"Good," Draco spat. "Now I'm heading inside before I catch my death of cold and my father fires your sorry self." He whirled around, cloak flying out behind him as he ran to the castle for all he was worth. But he did not go in; instead he deviated his course for the lake and collapsed by the dead tree.

Not for the first time, he cursed his inability to cry. That, in fact, had been the afternoon that they had discovered the anti-crying charm Narcissa had placed on him the day he was born, and although Lucius had removed it, the damage had been done. So Draco had attended the funeral of his older brother and confidante unable to shed any tears.

He had not spoken of his brother to anyone, and he had not let himself mourn for the person who had loved him the most. Now, he found it was too late, because he could not picture his face, and he could not recall his laugh or his voice.

Rule number eleven: Never get blindsided by kindness. Never.

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Bill was glad that he was at the Burrow for Christmas, even if Ron was mad at him for the detention. Ron had, of course, told Mother that Bill had given him a detention because he was fighting Malfoy for attacking Hermione, and Bill had to jump in and explain that Ron and Harry had instigated the fight before his mother went into a rant about 'those Malfoys'.

Ron had then pulled his trump card, and Bill figured that his little brother was awfully sore about getting a detention when his older brother was a teacher there. Ron told Mrs. Weasley that Bill had jumped in front of Malfoy when Ron had been about to punch him and that he was tutoring Malfoy after class.

"He needs the help," Bill had said shrugging. "He took a summer course and it's hard to learn everything in a summer that you're supposed to learn in a year. Plus, Dumbledore told me to keep an eye open for him, so I've been trying to talk to him, you know. He's not that bad, actually."

Both Ron and Mrs. Weasley had given him looks of horror and he had explained more to alleviate the tensions. "He's more confused that anything else, doesn't know what he wants to do. You can't keep thinking of him as a mini-Lucius, because he isn't."

He had kept his voice calm and cool, his teacher's voice, and as it was the holidays, and as they were supposed to be forgiving and kind, Mrs. Weasley couldn't argue with that.

They were staying at 12 Grimmauld Place for the holidays, and it was much improved from the last time that they had been there, but it was much emptier without the raucous laughter of Sirius. Bill watched Harry that night at dinner, noting that the eyes that were usually so bright had become a dull color.

He tried to get a word in with the boy as no one else seemed to notice because they were so busy with preparing for the holidays, but he never seemed to be able to catch Harry alone. It wasn't until later that night, when everyone else was in bed, that Bill had the opportunity.

He had always been a rather light sleeper, especially in a new environment, and so the soft creak of the stairs alerted him that someone was up. He threw on a shirt and pulled on a pair of sweat pants over his boxers, and crept downstairs, noting the faint wand light at the dining room table. It was Harry, sitting dejectedly in one of the hard, wooden chairs.

Bill slid into the chair across from him and lit a few candles, not talking but waiting for Harry to speak, knowing that Harry would feel obligated to talk. He doubted this procedure would work with Draco; the boy would probably just smirk at the silence.

"Feels wrong without him," said Harry, his voice slightly rough.

"Empty," agreed Bill.

"I don't like it," said Harry.

"Don't like what?" asked Bill.

"It being empty," said Harry. "It feels like its laughing at me."

"Why would it be laughing at you?" asked Bill.

There was silence for a moment, and Bill was just beginning to worry that he had pushed to far, when Harry spoke again.

"Because it was my fault," he whispered. "If I hadn't…,"

"Hadn't what?" Bill pried gently.

"If I hadn't run out on Snape, if I had actually learned Occlumency, then Sirius would be here."

"So it's your fault," said Bill.

Harry nodded. "I should have done more. I could have prevented this!"

"Harry, you're just a kid-," Bill began, but Harry cut him off with a mirthless laugh that reminded Bill scarily of another boy's laugh, a boy with white-blond hair.

"I was a kid," said Harry, bitterness and resentment creeping into his voice. "Since when do heroes have the privilege of being a child?"

Well, he certainly waxed profound late at night.

"Alright," said Bill. "You aren't supposed to be a kid. I don't think how it makes any difference."

"How's that?" asked Harry, a note of weariness coming into his voice.

Bill shrugged. "The way I see it, Voldemort has been fooling people for decades, children and adults, adults that are supposed to be our leaders and are paid for making smart decisions. I don't see how you being tricked makes it your fault."

"The fact being that I was the one who was tricked sort of makes it my fault," said Harry, now sounding angry. "My parents die, and then Cedric, now Sirius, it's all my fault!" The last was said in an exclamation of pain and self-loathing.

"Harry," said Bill calmly. "I want you to listen to me now. Cedric's death was because Voldemort is a monster who has killed so many times that another hardly affected him even more. It was his fault and no one else. As for your parents, they died because they loved you, and you can't blame yourself for that, if anything, blame them for loving you so much. Personally, I think that it is a beautiful thing, because you can never doubt how much they love you. It is a terrible thing to lose your parents, but at least you can never doubt their love."

Harry shifted slightly and sniffed.

"As for Sirius, he died fighting," said Bill. "And he came to the fight, because he also loved you."

"I hate love," said Harry. "It makes everyone die."

"Mmm," said Bill. "It seems that way, but the fact is that love goes beyond death. Even after they are gone, you still know that they care for you. I mean, if they were willing to die, obviously they wanted you to live, and I don't think that beating yourself up about it really counts as living."

"I wish I could have stopped them," said Harry.

"But you can't control other people, you can't make their decisions for them, because then they aren't really themselves."

"I suppose," said Harry quietly. "It's just, so many people have already died for me, what if more do?"

"It's hard to live with," said Bill. "But I think that trying to live up to their expectations would be a mistake, because you don't even know what their expectations are, so just make yourself happy. I think that's what they wanted."

Harry gave him a tremulous smile, and Bill knew that the smile was his own cue that he didn't want to talk about it anymore.

"But," said Bill, changing the subject, "here we are on the first night out of school and talking about depressing things. Sirius would not have stood for it, so we shall have to remedy it."

Bill got up and went silently into the kitchen and pulled out two butterbeers and came back.

"I have heard many stories about Umbridge, and I want to know the truth to all of the pranks that you have pulled." He sat back down and slid a bottle over to Harry. The boy-hero gave a grin, the sparkle coming back into his eyes.

"Well," he said, "so Umbridge was this horrid, fat woman…"

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The next update won't be as long, promise. And, if you have your ear(s) pierced, (or any other part of you) and/or if you liked the chapter, please review!


	14. Rule 12: Always maintain reputations

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own the amazing cookies that my ex-roommate brought up with her to give us. It makes me and my stomach happy.

Thanks to:

Gremlin: Yes, definitely kudos to Bill for handling Harry, he can be rather emo at sometimes, but we still love him  
Natalie: Checked everyday to see if it was updated? I guess you really must like it. Thanks for the review!  
QuinkyDink: Pride and Prejudiced is an amazing romance story by Austen, but I completely understand if you're romanced out, and your in luck because there are no pairings in this story, but maybe if I write a sequel….lol, getting ahead of myself  
Catherine: Thank you very much for the review, I'm glad you are liking the story  
Mask: Pegasus gone emo? Lol  
NMS: Where do I get the inspiration? Ummm, to be frank, I just pull it from my head. And the message isn't really all that poetic, sry. But thanks a lot for the review!

As always, thanks to my Beta. I sincerely believe she is the best beta in the world.

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Chapter 14

_Rule number twelve: Always maintain reputations, unless you can afford to lose them._

Draco supposed that working with Hagrid could have been worse. The second day had nearly been unbearable, because Hagrid was being so nice, and because Draco was determined the make the giant hate him again, but he figured that since Hagrid was so large, his heart was oversized as well.

Hagrid also had him work with the thestrals, and since Draco had thestrals at home and took care of them all the time, the Professor was obviously impressed that he did so well and so Draco's scathing remarks didn't have quite the effect he was hoping for. The fourth day was when Draco gave up trying to be mean. He had gotten a migraine the last time trying to get the half-giant mad and it wasn't as if he would actually come into contact with the Professor anytime after the detentions so he could afford to cut loose a little.

"D'you know 'ow to train thestrals?" asked Hagrid on Christmas Eve. "Fer shows, that is?"

"Rode a few in competitions," said Draco, wiping the sweat from his forehead and taking a break from mucking out the stalls. "Why?"

"I've been wonderin' if you would like ter 'elp me get Orion ready ta compete fer a show in the summer," said Hagrid, looking a little worried that Draco might find his offer offensive.

Draco frowned slightly. "It'd take longer than just the remainder of break," he said.

"I was hopin' you'd come down on weekends, mebbe," said Hagrid, now shifting on his feet. When Draco didn't answer right away, Hagrid pulled off his cap and began twisting it nervously in his large, rough hands.

Draco noted with surprise that Hagrid was afraid he was going to say 'no'.

"Course, you don' haft to," said Hagrid hastily. "Yer prob'ly busy an' all with school and…,"

The half-giant continued rambling, but Draco tuned him out, his brain whirling through all of the possibilities. He liked thestrals, and loved riding in competitions. He had won quite a few medals since he'd been riding since he was so young, and training was the most challenging and so he found that the most fun part. Had it been anyone else, Draco would have said 'yes' in an instant, but Hagrid was Hagrid and there were reputations to be upheld.

Rule number twelve: Always maintain reputations, unless you can afford to lose them.

"-an' I understand completely if-," Hagrid continued, but Draco cut him off.

"Yes," he said, already figuring out a way where he could help Hagrid without it looking like he was helping the giant.

Hagrid look surprised. "What?" he asked.

"I said 'Yes'," said Draco. "Saturdays, after lunch. Is that agreeable?"

"Yah," said Hagrid, still looking surprised.

"Good," said Draco. "Now, do you want me to clean out the rest of the stables as well?"

"Nah," said Hagrid, shaking his head. "It's Christmas Eve, go 'ave fun. I'll finish up."

Draco nodded and relinquished the shovel and then headed back to the castle for a warm shower. Once he had finished and was dressed in clean clothes, he set out to have 'fun', which in his case meant that he curled up by the fireplace (which he did only when no one else was looking –the curling up that is) with a book from the library, _Past Pleasure and Pain: The Psychological Potions._

It was one of the new books about advances made in Potions and Draco had been looking forward to its release ever since it had been mentioned in the paper. It was, of course, written by Hadrian Anwir, who had written two other books in the Potions series, and was on the top of the non-fiction book selling lists for the third time. Hadrian Anwir was, of course, none other than Professor Severus Snape. Draco knew because he had glimpsed the original manuscript on Snape's desk and recognized it for what it was. He figured he was one of the few who knew and the only one who didn't know on purpose.

It was funny, he reflected, as he took a break to sneak to the kitchens to get a mug of hot chocolate, how easily Snape could undermine the Dark Lord. In the book, 'Anwir' made breakthroughs on the very torture potions Snape created for the Dark Lord, and while Voldemort tried time and time again to stop the man who was ruining his work, he never once suspected the man who was creating the torture potions in the first place.

Draco went to bed late that night, staying up to finish the chapter on 'Countering the Delirium Drought' before finally turning in and not once did he feel excitement about the impending holiday morning.

He woke early in the morning, not because he was eager to open presents, but because he simply didn't sleep a lot. After getting dressed and reading half a chapter in the book, he slowly made his way upstairs for breakfast and upon arriving there, tried not to groan. There was a large tree in the great hall with presents underneath and a huge, buffet style Christmas breakfast was set upon a large table.

Dumbledore was already there along with McGonagall and the two Ravenclaw girls who were laughing and sharing stories with the older witch. Flitwick was there as well, as was Professor Sprout, both of whom had come back from wherever it was they had been.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy!" said Dumbledore coming over, his blue eyes twinkling much more than usual. He was wearing red robes with a green wizard's hat with a large bell at the end that tinkled as merrily as his smile. Draco nearly retreated a step as Dumbledore came closer and ushered him over to the table.

"Here we all are for a small, impromptu Christmas party," said the Headmaster, still beaming and Draco reluctantly sat next to the younger Ravenclaw girl who looked at him with wide hazel eyes and moved closer to her sister. "After breakfast, you will find that all of the incoming Christmas packages have been placed under the tree and we shall open them after the meal," said Dumbledore, sitting next to McGonagall who was directly across the table from Draco.

Draco tried to look anywhere but the stern Gryffindor witch, though it was hard not to, and the elder Ravenclaw kept up a lively dialogue with the Transfiguration Professor, which meant that Draco felt very much like an outsider. He nearly resorted to fiddling with his food, which was staying on his plate rather than making its way to his mouth as he could hardly ever eat when he kept getting scrutinized by McGonagall or Sprout or etc.

After the meal, the party gathered around the tree to open gifts. As Draco had ordered his new broom a few nights ago, it wouldn't be in for a few more days at least and so he stood a little ways apart from the group and merely watched. It seemed that the two Ravenclaw girls were quite well off, but their mother and father had gone to Spain to help their grandmother who was ill, and so they had been left at school. That, however, meant that their loving parents had tried to make up for it by showering every conceivable gift on the two sisters. What was even more revolting was that the girls weren't in the least bit spoilt or vain because of it, but approached each gift with a child-like eagerness and humility.

Completely disgusted with the display of laughter and happiness, Draco left as soon as no one was looking and found himself wandering outside in the snow wearing only his black pants, black sweater, and black shoes. He didn't really mind; he would just go in before he got too cold.

There was a shout from the direction of Hagrid's hut that carried over the still snow and Draco picked up his pace to round the greenhouses to see Hagrid running towards the castle with a grin on his face. Intrigued, Draco headed for Hagrid's hut to see what had put the half-giant in such a good mood. He could see nothing amiss from the front, but there was a suspicious noise coming from behind back. Draco rounded the hut then stopped.

There was a large pen there, holding an animal tied to a stake that Draco knew only too well. It was Buckbeak, the hippogriff that Draco had nearly gotten executed in third year. Granted, Draco never meant for it to go that far.

He had attended the DADA class that morning and the professor, Lupin, had told the class that he was hoping to get a Boggart sometime that week for them to practice on. Draco knew he couldn't, as his deepest fear gave away his secret. He had been scheming of several ways to get out of practicing on the Boggart, when Hagrid introduced Buckbeak and gave him the perfect opportunity. He provoked the animal, got a slice on the arm, and the next week when Lupin procured a Boggart, he had been unable to face it.

The plan had gone to hell when Lucius found out and nearly had Buckbeak executed, but as Lucius was now an escaped convict, Buckbeak had been pardoned. There was a sign hanging from the pen that read 'To the world's best gamekeeper, Dumbledore'. The Headmaster must have given Hagrid his pet back for Christmas.

Draco stared at the animal, and Buckbeak stared right back, a flinty glimpse of recognition in the steely eyes. Throwing logic to the wind, Draco climbed over the fence and approached the animal in slow, deliberate moves. Once he was only a few feet away from the half-bird, half-lion creature, he swept into a dignified bow that came from years of etiquette practice.

Buckbeak growled low in his throat, and Draco knew from five different sources that the growl meant he should run as fast as he could away from the animal, but he stayed.

The minutes dragged into eternity, and then the animal shifted, and bowed as well. Draco let go of the breath he had been subconsciously holding and slowly straightened and reached out a hand to pet the feathers on the head. To his surprise, Buckbeak met his hand with a jerk of his head, obviously starved for attention.

Draco smirked slightly at the animal, then began stroking its head, even more surprised when Buckbeak started to purr, and lean further into his touch.

"You just like the attention, don't you?" Draco asked the creature, his voice much softer than normal so the creature stepped forward in response. "Yes, I can see you fighting for the limelight," Draco continued, feeling his lips twitch upwards when the beast playfully nipped at his fingers. Draco had a funny feeling that the animal knew exactly what he was saying.

Buckbeak took another step closer and lightly nudged Draco in the chest when Draco didn't return to his petting. Draco actually smiled this time and stroked the animal's thick neck, feeling the powerful muscles beneath the fur and feathers.

"Spoilt," said Draco. "That's what you are." And he swore the animal huffed in agreement before laying its massive head on Draco's shoulder and purring again as Draco stretched to pet the fur on its chest. He didn't really mind as he was getting a little chilly and Buckbeak was extremely warm. He sighed and continued stroking, feeling the repeated motions calm him as well.

He wasn't aware that anyone was coming until there was an enraged shout behind him.

"Malfoy get 'way from 'im!"

It was Hagrid's voice and Draco whirled around to see the enraged giant pound towards him.

"I won' let you execute 'im again!" the large man roared. Buckbeak snorted at the interruption and rubbed his head lightly on Draco's shoulder. "Ge' out!"

"I'm not going to execute him again," said Draco, a slight sneer coming into his voice at the paradoxical statement Hagrid just presented, but he gave Buckbeak one last pat and started to move away. Buckbeak head-butted his shoulder from behind, upset at his departure, and Draco gave him a reproving glance and started towards the fence again. This time the nudge sent Draco sprawling face-first in the snow.

He rolled over and glared at the creature who was most obviously laughing at him with great 'wuffs' of air escaping his beak.

"Think that was funny?" asked Draco, getting to his feet and brushing the snow off of him. Buckbeak huffed again and ducked his head down for Draco to pet again. Draco smirked at that, stroked his neck, and Buckbeak began crooning lightly. This time when he walked back to Hagrid, Buckbeak walked with him, his eyes half-closed with pleasure.

Hagrid looked surprised, but delighted at the same time. Draco would have thought the half-giant would be a man who would want him no where near the animal he had nearly killed, but Hagrid seemed quite forgiving.

"'e likes you," he said to Draco.

"He just likes the attention," said Draco, but he still felt a flush of pleasure at the half-giant's words.

"Why aren' you up at the castle openin' presents?" asked Hagrid curiously.

Draco shrugged. 'I have none to open," he said simply.

Hagrid seemed flabbergast. "No presents?" he asked, so Draco amended his statement.

"I'm getting a new broom, but it just isn't in yet," he said, leaving out the fact that he was paying for it. Hagrid seemed much appeased and Draco didn't feel guilty at all for lying. It really wasn't a big deal that everyone was making it out to be, and he had received a present from Bill. The necklace was still around his neck; he hadn't taken it off yet.

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Christmas was loud, messy, and full of laughter, just what everyone needed. They were woken up at four thirty in the morning by Fred and George who would never be too old to jump furiously on their siblings beds until said siblings were up, or at least somewhat functional and standing. To prevent them from returning to the safety of their beds, the twins sprinkled the mattresses with their new product 'Bed-Wetter's Bane' which made the sheets turn yellow and wet whenever they were touched.

Bill merely shook his head and went downstairs to join Charlie for a cup of coffee, leaving his younger brothers and sister to the antics of Fred and George.

"How long d'you spose it'll take for them to rouse Mum and Dad?" asked Bill, sitting down at the table and watching in disgust as his oldest-younger brother shrugged, looking far too awake for four in the morning.

"I'll give them half an hour," said Charlie, not bother to hide his grin. "You've gone soft at the school," he said. "What happened to, 'We had to stay up all night to crack the code because we needed moonlight and then the first rays of dawn to trigger the rune. After that we had to manually dig through a solid brick wall all the while dodging curses from the enchanted sphinxes and warding off giant vampire bats'?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," said Bill, "you've had your share of completely unbelievable stories as well. 'I took a running jump, and leapt onto the dragon's back, holding on for dear life as he swooped and swerved trying to shake me off, or burn me alive, but then I pulled out my wand, holding onto the wings with one arm, and managed to subdue the beast', if I remember correctly."

Charlie shrugged. "It's true," he said. They exchanged looks and burst into laughter.

Mr. Weasley was finally roused at five, and then he had to Floo over to the Burrow and bring all of the presents back to Order headquarters. As tradition held that no one could go downstairs until everything was set up (except for Bill and Charlie who no longer lived at home) and as the beds were inaccessible due to the Bed-Wetting Powder, everyone was dressed by the time they thudded down the stairs.

The opening of the presents was more organized then the waking. To amuse themselves while Mrs. Weasley cooked breakfast, the stockings filled with little knick-knacks were opened. Harry had one as well, as he was practically adopted into the Weasley family. Most of them received 'series' gifts, that is all the same of one thing, but in different colors, so while Bill received a small quill set in blue, Charlie received one in orange, and so on and so forth.

While Bill remembered a childhood where there were only a few gifts for each person, and only one gift that was actually worthwhile (as opposed to a new set of boots), Mr. Weasley had recently been named the Head of Muggle Liaisons as the others had stepped down due to threats by Death Eaters in the Ministry. Arthur had then been named as head by Fudge, who knew that he would not respond to threats, and while that meant spending Christmas in the safe house, it also meant quite a larger salary, and it was evident in the number of gifts this year.

Once the stockings had been demolished, and a few candy canes been eaten, they were all called in for the Christmas breakfast, which was always the same, but never seemed to grow old. It proved to be an especially lively breakfast, the climax being when Fred and George slipped Percy a bit of who-knows-what into his drink which made steam pour out of his ears while it screeched to the tune of 'I'm a Little Teapot'. Ginny laughed so hard she nearly choked; Ron did choke and had to have his back pounded by Harry.

Mrs. Weasley tried to scold them all, but she could never yell at them on Christmas and so the twins were told that age-old saying from parents across the globe 'Funny once, naughty twice'.

After the breakfast dishes had been cleared, they all sat around the tree with mugs of butterbeer while Ginny, who was the youngest, got the task of distributing the presents one at a time. Everyone would watch as the present was opened, 'ooohhh' over it, and a hug would be given to the appropriate person, and the cycle would start again. The content feeling in the room had nothing to do with the butterbeer they were drinking, and the warmth was not entirely because of the Weasley sweaters they all opened and put on at the same time.

"Here, Bill," said Ginny, handing him a rectangular present that was most obviously store-wrapped as it was not completely covered in wrapping paper bows or strangled in ribbon, as most all of the home-wrapped presents were, rather it was in a pleasant light green paper that had a pleasant shine to it and was on the thicker side. A silver bow was perched on the center and there was a name tag with his name on it, but with no sender.

"Is it from Fleeuuurrrr?" trilled Fred and George together.

"Doesn't say," said Bill, frowning and checking the package over.

"Well, open it," said Charlie. "Maybe it's on the inside."

"Maybe it's from a secret admirer," teased Ron, who was now no longer mad at him as Bill had consented to play a game of chess with his younger brother and had been thoroughly trounced.

"Or perhaps Bill is taking advantage of the fact that his girlfriend lives in France," said Ginny, grinning at him slyly.

"Only you would think of that, Ms. I've-had-four-boyfriends-this-year-alone," said Bill, teasing her back.

"Three," said Ginny, tossing her hair back haughtily. "Ryan doesn't count because it was only a pity date."

"Three?" asked Ron, starting to get a little angry. "You've had three boyfriends this year?"

Yes, Ron was a slight bit over-protective. Ginny slipped a glance at Harry, though Bill was the only one who noticed. Looked like his little sister hadn't quite got over her childhood crush.

"Yes," she said. "His girlfriend dumped him and he had reservations, so I went with him. Honestly, Ron, it's not like he tried to snog me or anything."

Ron looked about to faint at the mention of his baby sister snogging someone, so Bill tore open the paper. The family leaned in as he pulled out a set of books tied together by a gold rope. They weren't large books, and were rather slim, but they had gorgeous antique covers of wood and gold overlay, and the pages were thick parchment with beautiful Ancient Rune script. It was by far one of the most beautiful presents Bill had ever received and he couldn't wait to start translating them.

"What are they?" asked Ron.

"Ancient wizarding tales," said Bill, flipping slowly through the pages. "These two are different forms of the Gaelic dialect, this one is Egyptian, this one I believe is an African script, and I haven't seen this one before." As he turned the next page a small square of parchment fell out. Bill picked it up, reading the message, and breaking into a large grin. The paper simply read 'Thanks' in a perfect calligraphy that could only be from one person.

"What?" asked the family.

"Who is it?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

Bill hesitated, before replying. "Oh, just a colleague of mine."

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Well, it's shorter, but you try writing a Christmas scene when it's not Christmas. It can get down right depressing.

Please review or the pigeons will get you….if you don't think that's scary, watch Hitchcock's movie 'The Birds', lol.


	15. Rule 13: There is no hole bigger in

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do, unfortunately, own the massive survey project I have to do for Intro into Social Research.

Thanks to:

Meirta: What will the Golden Trio think, indeed. I am def. planning on having them meet in a future chapter. Thanks for the review.  
Wildlyobsessed: Harry/Ginny, I don't know. Maybe slightly, but we really won't see a lot of them, so if you hate the ship, don't worry, if you love it, well, re-read the last chapter again, cuz that's prolly all your going to get. Thanks for the review.  
Gremlin: Thanks for reviewing, I'm glad you liked the Buckbeak part. I felt I had to put it in to explain Draco's behavior in the third book.  
Rachel: Thank you very much. And if you re-read parts, it must mean you like it right? Lol, thanks again.  
NMS: Thank you for the consecutive reviews, and yes, I am making thestral shows a lot like horse shows and rodeos, though, I've never been to one, I just thought it sounded rather aristocratic, like English polo. Anyways, thank you very much and I'm glad you like the other side of Draco, it's fun to write.  
Mask: Write what you know, right? Lol.

As always, thanks to my beta, to whom I sent two chapters in a row (this was the second of the bunch) and she is still my beta even after that. Amazing. Thanks Ada.

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Chapter 15

_Rule number thirteen: There is no hole bigger in a disguise, then the hole of perfection_.

As usual, the break ended far too soon and the Monday after New Year's, the students came back. The school days fell easily back into their pattern and by the first day of classes, it had felt as if there had never been a break at all. That Monday, Claire Jameson taught her first class in DADA, observed by Professor Stevick. Draco felt like cringing every time she spoke because that slight inflection was still there, the one his mother had when trying to talk normally, the trace of seduction. No one else noticed it.

Even if there hadn't been that slight seductive impression in her voice, Draco would still be wary of her. She was too sweet, too kind, and too perfect in her role of gentle student teacher.

Rule number thirteen: There is no hole bigger in a disguise, then the hole of perfection.

Although, Draco might have to edit that because it seemed like everyone was falling for her disguise.

Draco mentally made a note to watch out for her. He remembered what had been on the board before Christmas break, that 'one' was hidden in the school, and that was referring to a Horcrux. Draco had read up on Tom Riddle after finishing his potions book, and his guess would be that the Horcrux was hidden in the trophy Tom had received for turning in Hagrid's monster when he had actually been the one to open the Chamber of Secrets, but the trophies were protected much more than the restricted shelf at the library, besides, if there was a Death Eater at the school, wouldn't they have already made a move for the cup if it was a Horcrux? Surely it wouldn't be too difficult for a Death Eater to get into it, since they didn't have a cover to keep like Draco did.

Either way, Draco took it upon himself to figure out what was going on, and just because he was suspicious of Claire didn't mean he was closing out his options. Stevick seemed a little off as well, like he was trying to fade into the woodwork, but there were moments in class, when he showed them how to do a particularly hard curse, that he seemed to puff up and flourish under the awe of the students, but then he would remember himself and deflect the compliments. He never spoke out of turn with the other Professors and was always polite. Draco refused to believe that there was a specimen of humanity that boring, and figured that he, too, must be hiding something.

There was one good thing about classes starting again. Classes meant that helping Bill out with the code was once again a part of Thursday afternoons, and Draco knew that he had missed it, and when he stayed after class that Thursday and when Bill pulled out his notes, Draco felt himself relax, something he hadn't done for the past two weeks, not even around Hagrid.

Bill shot him a smile as he plopped down a bunch of papers on the table, and Draco found himself returning it before he caught himself.

"How was your break?" asked Bill as Draco immediately began sifting through the pile to find the parchment he had been reading last.

"Tolerable," said Draco. "Yours?"

He didn't know why he asked, usually Bill was the one who asked the questions, but he found the dialogue comforting.

"Fleur came over two days after Christmas," said Bill, a soft light coming into his eyes.

"When are you going to pop the question?" asked Draco.

"How did you-" Bill started, but Draco smirked.

"Have you looked in the mirror when you talk about her?" he asked.

"Well, no," said Bill.

Draco found the parchment he was looking for and pulled it out, already scanning the page to find where he had left off. "It's a complete give-away. Anyone with a half a brain could see that you're nuts about her."

"That doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to ask her to marry me," said Bill.

"But you're going to," said Draco

"But how did you know?" asked Bill.

Draco shrugged. "I'm a genius," he said. "So, when's the lucky day?"

"Valentine's Day," said Bill. "She's coming up then."

"Utterly sappy and romantic," said Draco. "Where's the Richslin Scroll?"

Bill handed it to him. "Do you think so?" he asked.

"Think what?" asked Draco, even though he knew what Bill was talking about. Bill gave him an 'I'm-not-fooled' look. "She'll love it," said Draco. "She _is_ French after all."

"Good," said Bill, seemingly relieved that the resident genius thought it was a good idea. He took to sifting through the papers as well and they lapsed into silence.

"I need a favor," said Draco abruptly, his fingers that were twitching in the pattern going double time.

"What sort?" asked Bill.

"I need a detention," said Draco. "Preferably a couple in a row. Saturdays. After lunch."

Bill set his notebook down. "Do I want to know why you need detention?" he asked.

"I'm helping Hagrid train a thestral for a show this summer," said Draco.

"And you need an excuse," said Bill, catching on to his train of thought. "Consider it done. You were taking notes out of my test book and you now have ten Saturdays of detention."

"Sounds Slytherin enough," said Draco, relaxing again. "By the way, are you keeping a close eye on the trophy room?"

"The Horcrux," said Bill, once again following his thinking. "The original trophy is in Dumbledore's office, he had the same idea. Someone did try to break into the room in the beginning of the year, but they must have realized it wasn't the real one."

Draco nodded and they lapsed into silence once again.

"How are classes?" Bill asked after awhile.

"Easy," said Draco. "Boring. I hate Debate Class."

Once again, he found himself giving information without any prying, just another reminder that he was getting far too lax in his guard, but he didn't really mind.

"That bad?" asked Bill.

"You try being stuck in a room with a bunch of Junior Death Eaters and tell me that you don't feel homicidal at the end of it."

"If you did go on a killing spree, we could give you honorary Order membership," said Bill, and Draco bit back a laugh.

"I think I should get a trophy as well," said Draco. "For services rendered to the school."

"Heck, they'd give you a Merlin, first class," said Bill, and this time Draco turned his head to hide his smile. "If it's that bad, you could always come to the APR meeting," said Bill, on a more serious note.

"Yes, I can see that happening," said Draco. "I'd get accused of spying."

"Not like you've been accused of worse," said Bill.

"True," Draco acknowledged.

Bill was about to respond when the door opened behind them and Draco turned to see Claire Jameson enter.

"Oh," she said, pulling up at the sight of them. "I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone was here. I was supposed to grade a few papers in here." She gestured to the desk. Draco knew what she was trying to convey. This classroom doubled as the NEWT DADA class for seventh years when Bill was not using it, and Stevick had apparently sent her down to grade the papers in the desk.

"Go right ahead," said Bill, giving her a reassuring smile, and Draco tried not to roll his eyes. Did everyone fall for her innocent act?

"Is it alright if I grade them in here?" she asked.

No! Draco thought, trying not to glare at her, but Bill gave that smile again.

"Of course," he said. "The teacher's lounge is quite a hike away."

"Thank you so much," she said and Draco picked up the slightly carried 'sooo'.

Draco glared as she walked to the front of the room to the desk, but then composed his face and pulled out a sheet that was written in the Gaelic dialect and began translating it on a clean piece of parchment so it looked like he was actually learning.

"What's all this for?" asked Claire, coming over with the papers in her hand to lean over their shoulders.

"Private project," said Bill. "I'm working on translating some runes I found on a dig once."

"And he's helping you?" asked Claire, prying ever-so-slightly.

"Wha-?" started Bill. "Oh, no. He's translating some Gaelic. His summer program didn't cover it."

Draco could feel her eyes turn to his paper as if making sure that was what he was really doing.

"Looks hard," she commented.

"He's picking it up fast enough," said Bill, looking over his shoulder as well and noticing the mistakes Draco was adding in. "Watch it right there," said Bill, pointing to one of the errors. "Remember what it said about agreeing? It agrees with the noun so it has to be plural."

Draco sighed, as if genuinely frustrated, and Claire moved to go sit at the back of the room. Draco could feel her eyes on him and the back of his neck prickled. Bill spoke softly, as if instructing him on something else and not wanting to disturb Claire, when he was really not talking about Runes at all.

"You don't like her." He didn't make it a question.

"She talks like my mother," Draco whispered back. Bill looked confused, so Draco elaborated. "Like a whore," he said bluntly.

"Claire?" asked Bill in surprise. "She's not forward at all."

"Exactly," said Draco, keeping his voice down. "Would you say Fleur is forward?"

"What?" asked Bill, a little too loudly, but then he quieted back down. "No. Not at all," he said.

"But she still dresses nicely, wears make-up, sometimes a low robe or two?"

"Well, yeah," said Bill.

"Would you say that Claire is prettier than Fleur?" asked Draco.

"About the same," said Bill. "Where is this going?"

"Since when has a woman been as pretty as Fleur and never flaunted it?" asked Draco.

"So she's a whore because she's modest?" asked Bill.

"She's a whore because she's _that_ modest," said Draco. "She's hiding it."

"How can you tell?" asked Bill, dubiously.

"Her inflections," said Draco. "Next time you talk to her, imagine her in bed with you."

Bill shot him a disgusted look.

"I'm serious," said Draco, "or at least in another setting. One with candlelight with her in a low, short red dress with loads of make-up on."

"Your unfounded accusations are not going to make me imagine a colleague in a compromising situation when I have a girlfriend already," said Bill.

"Stop being such a prude," said Draco. "Just because you have a girlfriend doesn't mean you have to be celibate."

"I'm starting to believe that we have very different views when it comes to moral values," said Bill, a look of reproof in his eyes that made Draco slightly angry.

"We are not here to talk about my morals," he whispered with an edge in his voice. "So what if I think that marriage is just an excuse to shag four times a day? The fact is that the sweet little student teacher has everyone believing she's a saint when she's a seductress."

"Draco, you are one messed up kid," said Bill shaking his head slowly. Draco felt his anger flare.

"Well catching your mother banging 'Cousin Richard' in reverse cowgirl on the kitchen table tends to do that to a seven year old!" hissed Draco. "I can't help it if you're too blind to see what she really is, or maybe you refuse to see it because you fancy her prettier than Fleur and wouldn't mind meeting her after class for some extra-curricular activities!"

He knew he had gone too far with that and a flash of regret made him flush ever-so-slightly. Bill stood, scraping his chair back noisily, and walking to the board.

"So," said Bill, louder than necessary. "How about I go over the rules for the Egyptian dialect? Copy these down Draco."

Oh, he could be cruel when he wanted to. There were thirty-seven long rules on that dialect (because there were a lot of exceptions to the rules), but Draco knew them by heart. He glared at Bill.

"Draco, you won't be leaving until you write them," said Bill, merely finding a page in the textbook and waving his wand so that the rules on the page copied themselves onto the board in an instant flat. "So you better get started."

There was a new note in Bill's voice, one of coolness and a slight trace of anger. Draco began copying, not looking up at Bill, and was surprised that he actually felt a fair bit of guilt at his words, but it wasn't his fault Bill wouldn't listen.

He scratched out the words onto his parchment, writing them in French, German, Italian, and Latin while his right hand drummed the table, not bothering to be quiet about it. It took half an hour.

Once he was finished, Draco sat back, flexing his left hand to get rid of the cramp.

"Done?" asked Bill. "If you haven't copied these down correctly you'll have to re-do them." He came over, reclaiming his chair and picking up the parchment.

Draco smirked as Bill looked at the paper in incomprehension, wondering if he was going to admit to not being able to read it.

"I'm sorry, but this is illegible," said Bill. "Please copy it again."

Draco glared. Behind them, Claire walked to the front of the room and put the graded tests back on the desk, then walked back to her spot and began picking up her things.

"So you don't believe me," said Draco. "Well, explain this then."

Draco got up and walked to Claire just as she picked up her bag.

"Excuse me, Miss Jameson?" he asked.

"Yes?" Claire asked, smiling politely.

"I just want to say that you did a really good job in class on Monday," said Draco, loud enough for Bill to hear, but not obviously so.

"Why, thank you," said Claire.

"I think that you're going to make an excellent student teacher one day," said Draco, making sure that his voice practically dripped with the innuendo and then he raked his gaze over her body.

Claire noticed his gaze, and ducked her head slightly, but she _did__not_ blush, in fact, she smiled again, almost knowingly and walked off. Draco watched her leave and shut the door behind her, then walked back to where Bill was sitting.

He slumped in his seat and raised an eyebrow at Bill, knowing that the spy would have noticed that the student teacher had not turned red at the blatant once-over.

"You may have a point," Bill conceded.

"I better have," said Draco, slouching slightly. "I just leered at my Professor for you."

There was silence for a moment and then-

"The reverse cowgirl?"

Draco groaned. "Let's not talk about it."

"He wasn't really your cousin, was he?"

"No!" said Draco, burying his head in his arms on the table. "It's code for screwing another man. She goes abroad and 'visits relatives'."

"So this Christmas, she was-"

"Yes," said Draco. "Now, drop it."

"Were you really seven?"

"Yes, now shove it, Weasley." His voice had gone cold.

"On the kitchen table?"

"Merde!" exclaimed Draco, sitting bolt upright and ready to strangle his professor, but then he realized that Bill was teasing him and shaking with silent laughter.

"It's not funny," he said. "You try walking in on that!"

Bill merely shook his head, trying to stifle his laughter, and Draco glared, turning back to his report.

"You didn't have to eat off of that, did you?" asked Bill. "Because that would have been so wrong."

"I burnt it down," said Draco stiffly.

"I'm sorry," said Bill, becoming serious once more. "I shouldn't laugh."

"Damn right," muttered Draco under his breath. "I'm leaving now," he said louder, as they had actually gone past the hour they usually took. "I've got work to do and can't spend all of my time copying dialect codes I already know." He said the last rather meaningfully, but Bill didn't look repentant at all.

"You sure?" asked Bill. "We can stay a bit after if you want."

"I've got a test to just barely pass," said Draco, packing up his things. "It's amazing how much studying has to go into failing a test."

"Have fun then," said Bill.

"Oh yes," said Draco sarcastically. He was practically out the door when Bill called out again.

"Thanks for the books!"

Draco halted for a moment. "You're welcome," he said, and then continued on his way.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Draco was just out the door when Bill looked over his shoulder and called out "Thanks for the books!"

He watched as Draco stopped short and froze for a split second. "You're welcome," said Draco finally, and then kept walking. Bill grinned; it was more than he expected, but then again, this entire lesson had been one surprise after another.

First, there was the fact that when Bill had given Draco a smile of greeting, Draco had smiled back. Okay, so it was more of an upturn of the lips, but Bill wasn't choosey. Secondly, Draco had actually asked him how his holidays had been, and Bill was sure that Draco had been aggravating him on purpose when Draco had asked "What?" to Bill's question about Fleur.

Aggravating on purpose was another word for teasing, which meant that Draco was getting far more relaxed with him. Of course, there was that thing with Claire. Draco had gone too far with his comment about Fleur, but then again, he did have a valid argument. Bill grimaced as he began picking up the papers. There was something wrong with a sixteen year old looking over a teacher, but his point had been made, Claire hadn't blushed. That just meant that Bill had to watch out for someone else now, and he didn't like that.

Bill finished putting the things away and headed up for the teacher's lounge, thinking back to what Draco had said about marriage and then his mother. He obviously thought his mother was loose and from what Draco said about walking in on her and some 'cousin', he had a right to think so.

Bill didn't know what he would have done in that position. He had received 'The Talk' from his father right before he had left for Hogwarts in a comfortable atmosphere where it was okay to make 'ewwww' faces. He shook his head again, opened the teacher's lounge extremely grateful that it was empty, and slouched onto the couch by the fire.

Then there was the fact that Draco _knew_ his mother was off having…affairs with other men during the holidays. Bill knew from previous discussions that Draco's mother wasn't exactly role-model material with her 'activities' and tendencies for illegal potions and alcohol, but the fact that there were code words for it made him think that the indiscretions happened rather often. No wonder Draco thought that marriage was just an excuse.

Bill probably shouldn't have teased Draco about it, but in those few moments when Bill had been pestering him, it was almost as if Draco was another little brother of his, actually showing emotion, albeit that the emotion was revulsion, but still, Draco had even slipped so far as to let out a French expletive.

Bill had never heard Draco speak French, except for that one time before Bill had figured out Draco's secret, and it was a good thing to know that Draco reverted back to his native language when he was upset so he could watch out for it.

The lounge doors opened and Claire came in, and Bill was instantly wary.

"Tired?" asked Claire kindly.

"You've no idea," said Bill, keeping the conversation natural.

"Is tutoring that bad?" asked Claire.

Bill remembered what Draco had told him, imagining her in another setting. Well, there was no way he was imagining her in bed with him, though he doubted Draco would have such qualms, and instead pretended that they were at a classy bar, where women wore those little black dresses they were always on the hunt for.

"Tolerable," he said, unconsciously using Draco's description of his holiday. "It's just a pain to come back to work after having a break." He closed his eyes, as if exhausted, but in reality, it was to better place them both in his imaginary bar.

Claire laughed, and to Bill's surprise, her laugh did not seem out of place at a bar, in fact, she sounded downright enticing. He could picture her now, in a small dress with high heels and make-up.

"I know what you mean," she said. "What I wouldn't give for a few more hours of freedom." In the bar, she stepped forward, a small, seductive smile playing on her lips.

Bill's eyes snapped open and he saw Claire standing above him with the exact smile he had imagined her wearing hovering on her lips, and immediately he saw what Draco had been telling him.

The smile was not provocative in a school setting, but it looked very slightly out-of-place. When Bill had pictured the bar, the smile looked as if it belonged there.

"Something wrong?" Claire asked.

"Just forgot that I had a quiz to make up for tomorrow," said Bill, lying easily. He didn't do it often, but he was a good liar.

"Don't you just hate that?" Claire asked, and Bill caught the slightly elongated vowels that fit a bar, or a bedroom, better than the school.

"Absolutely," he said. He got up, grabbed a few papers off of his desk, and then went to his room. Once in the privacy of his bedchamber, he shook his head. Leave it to the kid to pick that up, he thought ruefully, and then flopped onto his bed for a nap before dinner.

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You know that you want to review  
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As wide as a mile  
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I wrote a poem, so you better review!


	16. Debate

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. At this point in my life, I don't own much of anything new as I'm saving up for Spring Break and hopefully a shopping trip as well.

Thanks to:

Darkmb101: Hey, thanks for the tip and also for reviewing.Wildlyobsessed: I definitely thought that Draco had too many issues to work out to have a real relationship, so I didn't include any romance for him and I'm glad you agree  
QuinkyDink: I totally understand about the procrastination, so no worries. And thanks for the review and good luck on your homework  
Gremlin: Thanks for the review, I'm glad you like the interaction with Bill  
Nomen Mihi est : Thanks for the review, I'm glad you like it so much  
NMS: lol, don't we all wish that, oh well. Thanks for reviewing!  
Catharine: thanks for the review, and I'll definitely try keeping the updating quick  
krumISmine: No, this is not Bill/Draco, though I've gotten a lot of questions. Purely a plutonic, brotherly, mentor relationship, no slash, but thanks for the review, I'm glad you like it.  
Dancergirl2011: Thanks for the review!

Ada: thanks for editing another chapter. Where would I be without you?

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Next Wednesday came far too soon in Draco's opinion, and he knew that he would not be able to stand another meeting in the FPR group. He was going soft; there was no other word for it. Normally he was used to sitting through absolutely brainless classes with only a minimal amount of frustration, but now that he was actually enjoying school, with Thursdays trying to decode an ancient dialect and Saturdays with Hagrid training thestrals, he found that the FPR group meeting was, in essence, torture.

He thought back on last Saturday with a slight smile. It had been surprisingly easy to explain to Hagrid exactly why they were pretending that Draco had a detention as the half-giant had understood immediately and so the afternoon was spent trying to get Orion used to a bridle and saddle. After a fruitless hour spent trying to get the saddle on, Draco had decided that they would have to break him in without it for the time being, even though Hagrid looked a little skeptical.

Needless to say, by the time Wednesday came around again, Draco knew that there was no way he would be able to last the FPR meeting, not when he had ancient runes and flying thestrals to look forward to, so after dinner, Draco made his way up to the APR meeting with Blaise Zabini, who was still a little wary of Draco ever since the whole beating incident. The other Slytherins were wary of Zabini, who was now a decided friend of the Golden Trio, going even as far as to ask Hermione Granger on a date at Hogsmeade.

Draco smirked at the expressions on the Golden Trio's faces when he walked in. Potter looked confused, Weasley looked enraged, and Granger looked disgusted. Bill, on the other hand, who sat in on the meetings, looked surprised and amused.

"The hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" spat Ron.

McGonagall, who was in charge of the discussions for the APR group, came over to see what the commotion was all about. She frowned when she saw him.

"What is your purpose in being here, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked sternly.

Draco immediately went into his bored act; it was almost automatic whenever he saw the Professor. "Damned if I know," he drawled. "It said on some sheet I got that I was supposed to visit each group, though why I'm supposed to visit this one, I don't know. Hardly seems worth the effort."

McGonagall stared at him. "Are you saying that you are in the neutral party, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Is that the one?" asked Draco, more concerned with fiddling with his black shirt sleeve than he was with the teacher.

"Ms. Granger," said McGonagall to the bushy-haired girl who had come over as well. "Could you please get the list of party members on the desk and bring it to me?"

"Of course, Professor," said the girl, always excited to do something for the Professors. She practically ran off and Draco sneered, then went back to the oh-so-infuriating-staring-at-his-nails as McGonagall watched him coldly. Draco really did find her intimidating, and was glad that he didn't have to look up at her.

"Here you are Professor," said Hermione, slightly breathlessly as she had run back as well.

"Thank you, Hermione," said McGonagall. She flipped through the sheets, and looked up at Draco in surprise when she spotted his name on the Neutral List. "Very well, Mr. Malfoy," she said. "You may come in, but I will have no unnecessary interruptions, is that clear?"

"As clear as Trelawny's crystal ball," said Draco, letting the sarcastic comment floating in his head out of his mouth without thinking about it. Before he could get reprimanded, he squeezed by and entered the room, taking an empty desk in the back, one away from Bill. He raised his eyebrow at the red-haired Professor as he sat down, and Bill shot him a quick grin.

It took awhile for everyone to come in and stop talking so they could get started and even though the atmosphere was friendly and light, they still managed to stay on topic and have actual conversations about how to debate the issue of blood purity.

Draco pretended not to be impressed. He leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs and kept that infuriating smirk on his face. He occasionally scribbled on a piece of parchment as if he was taking notes to share with the other side, when in all actuality he was merely doodling.

He stopped doodling when the subject of war came up. It was brought up quite innocently. Harry and Ron were goofing off; Hermione reprimanded them, saying in a fair impression of McGonagall, "There is a war going on. Let's try to concentrate, shall we?"

"It's not a war," said Ron. "Not yet any way. There haven't been any real battles."

"War," said Granger primly, "is an armed conflict between groups that involves death and destruction. I think it's a war."

"I don't know," said Weasley. "Maybe not a real war yet. I mean, what are we fighting for?"

"Our lives?" asked Potter rather obviously.

"It's more than that," said Granger. "We are fighting to rid ourselves of a tyrannical man who wants to take over our country and rule our lives. This is about freedom, the freedom to be governed by who we want, the freedom to live in peace and not be discriminated against due to our heritage."

There were cheers and a few claps of agreement while Hermione flushed slightly.

"Doesn't war involve more death and destruction, though?" asked Ron, still on the war question.

"It will be soon enough," said Hermione grimly. "Once the battle begins, people who just want to stay out of the conflict will be forced to fight."

"But will they fight?" mused Harry.

"They'll have to," said Hermione. "It's their freedom too."

"You ever wonder how many people are going to die?" asked Ron.

"A lot," said Hermione. "But it's worth it."

Harry laughed. "Only freedom for you Hermione, huh?"

"Freedom or death," said Hermione.

Draco nearly snapped. He set his chair down on the floor with a sharp bang, not bothering to catch himself with his feet. He got glared at by the entire group, but he didn't notice. His fingers were flying in their 1-3-2-4 pattern and it was all he could do to keep from jumping up right then yelling at them all for being such idiots.

Luckily the topic was changed but Draco was still wound up at the utter stupidity of the group and he stayed where he was when the debate class finally let out. Bill stayed too.

"Something wrong, Draco?" Bill asked, once the room was empty.

Draco turned to him. "You're so bloody arrogant!" he exclaimed. "You're like a group of Purebloods at a convention it's so disgusting!"

Bill didn't get riled up or retort back. He remained calm, patience and reassurance in his eyes. "And how is that?" he asked.

"Saying that people have to fight, forcing them to fight," said Draco. "It's no better than the damned Death Eaters."

"The Death Eaters follow Voldemort," said Bill. "If Voldemort had his way-"

"I know what would happen if Voldemort had his way," said Draco, frustration tainting his voice. "Let's think about this, shall we?"

He got up and erased the board in the front of the room. Bill got up as well, taking a seat on the top of the table in the front row.

"Alright," said Draco. "This is a quick lesson in statistics. Seventeen percent of the wizarding population is Pureblood, roughly thirteen percent is Mudblood. That leaves a good seventy percent who are Half-blood or some fraction of half."

"Sounds about right," said Bill.

"Of course it's right," said Draco. "Now, let's say Voldemort takes over right now."

"Can't happen," said Bill.

"We're going to pretend," said Draco, writing down '_Lord V Takes Over_' on one side of the board. "For easy math, let's say there are one hundred wizards in England. Now, Voldemort is in power and all of the Purebloods live in luxury, that means you too Bill."

"Sounds nice," said Bill.

Draco smirked at that and wrote down _17: alive_ on the board.

"Alright, so Voldemort kills all of the mudbloods," said Draco. "That's thirteen dead." _13: dead_ was put under _17: alive_. "Now," said Draco. "That leaves us with seventy half-bloods who are forced to work the menial to middle-class jobs, depending on how pure their blood is. But they are still alive."

_70: alive_ followed the _15 dead_.

"Oh wait," said Draco. "He'd probably kill Potter too, so it's only 69 who live, but the point is that total, we get 86 people still alive."

He wrote down _86: total alive_ and circled it.

"Sounds plausible," said Bill.

"It's logical," agreed Draco, looking at the figures. "Of course, this is if everyone just laid down their arms and gave up. However, let's say there is war. Let's even say your side wins."

He wrote down '_War_' on the other side of the board and then drew a smiley face next to it.

"Alright, so approximately half of the Purebloods are Death Eaters," said Draco. "So that's nine people dead or kissed by the dementors when this whole thing is over. Unfortunately, another four were falsely accused or killed trying to save their loved ones, so they're dead as well."

_13: dead_ was the first count on that side.

"Now," said Draco. "There are quite a few half-bloods who are Death Eaters. I put the count around 20 percent."

"Seriously?" asked Bill.

"Quite," said Draco. "Twenty percent of the seventy half-bloods is fourteen, so that's another fourteen dead or kissed."

_14: dead_ was put under the _13: dead_.

"Now, the war was pretty fierce. Say that each of the twenty three Death Eaters managed to take out at least one non-Death Eater before they go, that's another twenty-three right there," said Draco.

_23: dead_ was put up as well.

"Now we talk casualties," said Draco. "Did you know that there is no less than 7 percent of casualties in wizarding war? That's another seven dead."

_7: dead_ was put up as well.

"Do the math," said Draco. He wrote down the total and circled it. _43: total alive_. "Forty-three people live in that scenario. Compare that to eighty-six. We're talking twice the number of dead."

"So are you saying that you think that all of the Muggleborns should just give up?" asked Bill. "So that not as many people die?"

Draco put down the chalk and stepped back.

"I don't know," he said truthfully. "There are so many people out there who don't want to fight, who want it all just to stop. What right does thirteen percent of the population have to demand that they fight to protect them?"

"If they don't fight, everyone will suffer the same, even the purebloods. Life that is dictated by someone else is not life. Those people who recognize that, those people who are willing to fight, just want the others to join them in fighting for the thing they love most: Life and the right to live it."

"Maybe those people who don't want to fight love it more," said Draco quietly.

"How so?" asked Bill, just as softly.

"It's like this," said Draco. "Imagine that you and Fleur get married this winter. Congratulations. You have a baby, my sympathies. He's got her hair, thank Merlin, and your eyes. You name him Arthur after your dear old dad. So you don't get confused at family reunions, you call him Art. The poor boy isn't even artistic. Anyway, you come to visit next year. Unfortunately, Death Eaters attack and hold you, Fleur, Art, myself and Snape hostage. They say that if we give them baby Art, we will be set free. If you don't, we die."

"Rather unpleasant," said Bill.

"Who is going to care most if baby Art dies?" asked Draco.

"Myself and Fleur," said Bill.

"What if the Death Eaters ask me and Snape to give up Art? Is that fair?"

"No," said Bill. "You don't love him as much."

"Exactly," said Draco. "In fact, I don't even like the crying twerp. His death to me is a mere unfortunate event, to you and Fleur though, it's devastating. It's the same thing with this situation here, really."

"Not quite," said Bill.

"But it is," said Draco, his voice taking on a note of emotion. "Just like asking you to give up Art is worse for you than me, it's the same way with life. Maybe those people who are willing to die for freedom simply love freedom more than life. And maybe those people who are willing to give up that freedom to live, love life more than the others. What right does anyone have to ask them to lay down their life? People don't just get another life."

"It's an interesting argument," said Bill, "but it just doesn't hold."

"Why not?" asked Draco, sitting on the adjoining table. "How is it not truth?"

"Because we are not animals," said Bill simply. "Life, for human beings, is all about the ability to choose, to make choices. That is what sets us apart from other animals, besides our intellect. We have the freedom to make choices, the freedom to choose careers, the freedom to pick what color shirt we want to wear. We even have the freedom to choose if we want to become Dark Wizards and mass murderers, but we also have the freedom to create morals.

"Freedom and life go hand in hand, you take away one and you essentially take away the other as well. Once our freedom is taken, we lose our humanity, we lose what makes us people. We're not just fighting for freedom, or for our lives, but for who we are, what all people deserve: the ability to choose, the freedom to choose. Every person, every human, even if they are Muggle, deserves that, Draco."

It took a moment for Bill's words to sink in. Draco turned from Bill's intense gaze and settled for staring at the board, feeling all of his questions and doubts be answered and put to rest by Bill's speech. He could categorize the war now, he could put the players where they belonged.

All people were on the same level, wizards, Muggles, Purebloods and Mudbloods. While he always knew that the Order was on the moral side, he could now put the Death Eaters on the wrong side, and feel justified for doing so. They were wrong; people deserved to make choices. Perhaps it was a little late for a teenager of his intelligence to be making such a blatantly obvious epiphany, but Draco didn't really mind. Things finally made sense.

He sat on the table, feeling it all slip into place in his mind. It wasn't until he heard his name being called that he realized he was still staring at the board.

"You alright?" asked Bill, once Draco finally turned to him.

"I'm fine," said Draco, looking back at the wall.

"Good," said Bill. "I half-way thought that I had bored you into a coma because you weren't moving at all, not even your fingers were moving in you little…twitch."

"I was thinking," said Draco. "And it's not a twitch. Piano exercise, for dexterity."

"You seem to do it an awful lot," said Bill.

"Hyperactive," said Draco, staring off again, not realizing that he had just let another secret slip.

"Alright," said Bill. "Go to bed, you're spacing out. Shoo!"

Draco blinked, snapping out of his revere. "Sure," he said, and slid off the table. He gave Bill a parting glance, noting the concern in his Professor's eyes, before he left the room.

He honestly tired to keep his mind relatively clear until he could think things over in the privacy of his bed curtains, but his mind never listened when it was full of thoughts and questions. He had never truly believed that Purebloods were better than Mudbloods. Look at Granger, she was practically smarter than he was, and look and Crabbe and Goyle, pureblood to the core, and stupid as rocks. But he had never tried to figure it out as the thoughts caused migraines and insomnia, but Bill had explained it so easily.

He could now say with absolute certainty that Voldemort was wrong. And since he was wrong, Draco did not want to be a Death Eater, not because it was dangerous, or because he was sure that they would fail, but because he didn't agree with it.

He opened the door to his room, finding that all of his dorm mates were in bed, and that there was a large, black owl sitting on his desk. He felt cold dread slip down his back. He didn't want to be a Death Eater, but he doubted he would have a choice.

He opened the letter; it was from his father. His father wished him happy holidays, belatedly of course, noted the broom that Draco bought and informed Draco that money he had spent on his Christmas gift had been reimbursed into Draco's personal vaults. He also reminded Draco of the event to occur right after school let out and hinted that the Malfoy family might have a cause for celebration in a few weeks time.

Lucius didn't say anything else after that, and Draco burnt the letter and sent the owl off without a reply. Suddenly the room felt much too confining and restricting. It was like his fate, going one way and dragging him along with it and he didn't get a say in the matter. He grabbed his cloak and slipped out of the room.

He left the castle through the hidden entrance in the back and made his way to the dead tree by the lake. It was a cold night, but clear. A million little stars sparkled in the black silk sky, a few silver, misty clouds drifted in front of the pale gold moon, and the snow shone the light, making the grounds quite bright. Draco hardly felt the chill from the frigid air. He stared out at the still lake that reflected the moon like a classical photo on the cover of a Christmas card and felt all of the anger and frustration inside of him turn into rage at the perfect scene.

He scooped up a fistful of rocks at the waters edge and sent the hurling, one after the other, into the lake, bring up the black ripples to drown the moon, but the water calmed down after the rocks were extinguished and as the moon was in the sky and not the water, it was mirrored again on the glassy surface.

Draco sighed, the sound of his breath echoing across the still water and air. He picked up a few more rocks, but this time sent them skipping across the surface, or at least tried to. He never had been again good at it and the most he got was three skips. He chucked the rest of the stones and walked back to the dead tree he liked so much and sat at the trunk, feeling the snow seep into his pants.

A few moments ago this had all seemed so simple. He knew what was right and wrong but he was finding out that it was a lot different between knowing right and wrong and doing it. He shifted slightly and stared up at the stars, knowing he could name fifty different constellations up there, but for once, not having the desire to do so.

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Bill watched Draco leave with a strange desire to reach out, give the kid a hug like he used to give to Ron when he had nightmares, and tell him that it was going to be alright. However, he knew that if he did so, Draco would merely shrug him off and he would ruin all of the fragile trust that had built between them. So he merely watched Draco leave while his stomach twisted with the urge to comfort him.

After the footsteps faded, Bill looked back towards the board with the sickening statistics written out on it and grabbed the eraser and began smearing out the marks. Draco had been confused when he had looked at the statistics he had written, that much he had been able to ascertain from the cloudy look in the grey eyes, but it had been more that that. It was as if he truly didn't know what to think. So Bill had explained, and he must have explained it well because the kid had gone absolutely still, not even blinking, though the grey eyes flickered and Bill could practically see his brain racing with thoughts and questions.

Bill put the eraser down once the board was number-free again and wondered if maybe Draco did have a point, but no, he firmly believed what he had told Draco. This was a fight for humanity.

He left the room wondering what Draco was going to do now. He knew that he had given the teenager a lot to think about it, and while being a genius meant that Draco could think a lot faster, it was unfortunately one of those situations where being a genius didn't mean he would come to an answer any easier. Sill, even if Draco didn't come to a conclusion that night, Bill would be there. Draco was too smart and, consequentially, too dangerous to just leave in limbo like that. Not only that, but he had come to genuinely care for the kid.

He entered his bedchamber, and, as he had done since Christmas break upon entering, picked up the little, black velvet box and opened it. Inside was the ring he was going to give to Fleur, a white-gold band (because she didn't like yellow-gold), and two tiny diamonds on either side of a larger one. It was more elegant than showy, and more beautiful as opposed to the latest trend. It was perfect, like she was.

He ran a finger over the band and then closed the box, setting it back on the nightstand with a little prayer that she would say 'Yes'. Too in thought to sleep, he made his way to the window seat and sat on the red cushion, staring out at the night sky. Movement down by the lake caught his attention, and he made out a tiny figure. He recognized the pale hair

He watched as Draco sent rocks hurtling into the lake almost violently. He wondered how much his words had really affected the boy, or if something else had set the kid off. Draco stopped after awhile and attempted to skip a few, but Bill could tell even from his window that he had terrible form, and wondered if Draco had ever been taught to skip rocks.

He drifted off to sleep on that thought and the image of Lucius teaching Draco how to skip rocks floated through his head, but then it was replaced by Lucius in his Death Eater's mask teaching a little Draco how to perform the Cruciatous and the older, teenaged Draco was there as well, writing down terrible statistics on the walls, laughing all the while. And then the baby Draco turned straight towards him, pointed a wand at his chest, and said 'Crucio' in a cold, deadly voice.

Bill jerked awake with a gasp, nearly jumping straight off of the window seat, but managing to catch himself. After slowing his breathing and feeling his heart rate turn to normal he looked outside the window, and saw that Draco was now sitting by the dead tree by the lake. A glance at the clock showed that Bill had been asleep for forty minutes, and he looked back towards Draco, wondering if he should get the boy back inside.

He gave him five more minutes, and was just about to get up to go send the teenager in when Draco got up and slowly walked back towards the castle. With a start, Bill realized that Draco was going to use the very door Bill used to go to meetings. He wondered how the boy had found it.

He waited until he was sure Draco was in the building, and then pulled his pajamas on and crawled into bed after extinguishing the light. He fell into a dreamless sleep.

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Sorry, no poem this time, but feel free to leave a review anyways. Let me know what you thought about Draco's changing ideas


	17. Rule 14: Sometimes it's necessary

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own a heart rate monitor that I had to pay ninety bucks for it for a gym class in college. Blah!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: As spring break is next week for me, updates may range anywhere from few and far between to non-existent, but only for a week.

QuinkyDink: Ooops, lol. But thanks, I think one of the greatest compliments a writer in training can get is that they have improved, so thank you. And I went back to re-read some of AtW, and I keep catching all of these spelling and grammatical errors and cringe, so I can't read it at all.

Donna: I actually got a few responses like yours, but that's cool because I wanted it to be thought provoking, and for Draco, he knows how evil Voldemort is, so Bill's argument just helped him decide where he stood, thanks for the review

NMS: thank you!

Gremlin: Thanks a lot! I'm glad that you liked it

Chicklepea: Hey, thanks for the review, and next time I'll be sure to make the plea for reviews more demanding to inspire you, lol.

W.O: I wonder what's in store for Draco as well, thanks for the review

Laureselde: Thanks for the review, and a few other people sided with Draco as well, thanks for the review!

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Chapter 17

_Rule number fourteen: Sometimes it's necessary to reveal strengths to be perceived as strong._

Draco got up early the next morning (when did he not?) and finished the homework he didn't do last night. Now that he didn't want to be a Death Eater, he had to figure out a way not to be one, and still walk away with the money in his personal vaults. He knew what he was worth: ten million galleons cash, another ten million invested, and a quaint, little chateau in France at another five million.

He was pretty sure that if he was unable to leave with his fortune, he would merely stay, become a Death Eater, and keep it. He may be selling his soul to the devil, but he was quite certain that he wasn't worth 25 million galleons, not even with his genius intellect; he simply wasn't _nice_ enough. Besides, he was a Malfoy after all, and what good is a Malfoy without money?

Even with the stress of trying to figure out how to get out of Death Eater duties, he found that he wasn't quite as anxious as he was in the beginning of the year. It really was amazing how much a simple realization could take that load off.

Feeling less strained, he played his part of Slytherin bully to the core and made a little first year Hufflepuff girl cry by merely glaring at her. He smirked and made his way down to the Great Hall where he didn't eat, as usual, but managed to land Nott in a detention by making it appear as if the sixth year boy had tripped the Weasel, when it reality, it had been Draco. Yes, it was good to be relaxed, or rather, as relaxed as he ever got, which was still, in normal terms, rather tense.

He was a little apprehensive of Bill in their tutoring session after Ancient Runes, afraid that the Professor would mention their debate last night, but Bill didn't mention it. In fact, Bill looked rather tired.

"Late night?" asked Draco, cocking an eyebrow as Bill yawned for the eleventh time in twenty minutes.

"You could say that," said Bill, blinking open his eyes wider to read over the parchment in his hand. "I must be getting old."

Draco smirked at that, his fingers drumming on the table as he looked over his own scroll.

"So, hyperactive?" asked Bill.

Draco glanced up to see Bill smiling at his drumming fingers and got a weird sense of deja vu. Bill had asked that question before, so why was he bringing it up again?

"Last night," Bill clarified. "You said that you were hyperactive."

Oh, yeah. Shit, he really was losing it, wasn't he?

"Slightly," said Draco, turning back to his work.

"I'm guessing insomniac, too," said Bill.

This time Draco's whole head jerked up. "What?" he asked, not able to stop the question from escaping his lips.

"Insomniac," said Bill. "You know, the one where you don't sleep a lot."

"I know what it is," said Draco. "And no, I'm not."

"Liar," said Bill, giving him his own smirk, which was really only a soft 'I-know-I'm-right' smile.

Draco knew that if he denied it, he would only be confirming Bill's suspicions, so he leaned back and crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I happen to know," said Bill, "that you were up rather late last night, and yet here you are, perfectly normal, and you're not even stopping yourself from yawning."

"How do you know I was up late last night?" asked Draco, changing the subject.

"My window faces the lake," said Bill. "Plus, insomnia is a usual complaint from people with genius intelligence."

Draco scowled; Bill was too good to be sidetracked. Bill grinned triumphantly, knowing that his silence meant an answer in the affirmative, and got back to work.

Draco hesitated before returning to the pages as well. Never before had someone known so much about him, and he felt exposed and…vulnerable. He didn't know what to do. While part of him enjoyed the fact that he didn't have to hide around Bill, he hated the feeling that Bill might be getting a little too close.

"By the way," said Bill. "You really need to work on your stone-skipping skills. Your form is all wrong."

"Perhaps we can take a field trip to the lake during a tutoring session," said Draco, slightly scathingly, but Bill only laughed, then stopped suddenly.

Draco looked at him warily, waiting for another question. Bill actually seemed hesitant about this one.

"Draco, do you know how to do the Cruciatus curse?" he asked.

"What brought that on?" asked Draco.

"A weird dream I had," said Bill.

Draco gave him a funny look and turned back to his sheet.

"I'm sorry," said Bill, ruefully. "It's-"

Draco cut him off. "Yes," he said.

"I'm sorry, what?" asked Bill.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, I can perform the Cruciatus," he said. "Although the Imperius is easier for me."

Bill seemed at a loss for words. "The Imperius…?" he trailed off, the question lingering in his voice.

"Well, it's all a matter of will power isn't it?" asked Draco. "The Cruciatus requires hatred, burning hatred, while the Imperius just needs a strong mind, so it naturally came easier to me. I was doing the Imperius at eleven, after a month of practice; the Cruciatus took me until twelve."

Yes, there he was giving away information again, but this one had a purpose. Bill really was learning a bit to much about him, so the reminder that he was not an innocent, harmless teenager would not only serve to distance the Professor, but to also reaffirm his position as a rather powerful Dark Wizard.

Rule number fourteen: Sometimes it's necessary to reveal strengths to be perceived as strong.

And Bill did look a little unnerved, and Draco was irritated to find that he suddenly wished he had simply not answered the question. He picked up his quill and went back to work, bending his head over the page and feeling his fingers blunder in their attempt to twitch out their usual pattern. He glared.

"You need more of a flick of the wrist," said Bill.

Draco looked up. "Pardon?"

"Skipping rocks," said Bill. He stood up and pantomimed casting a rock. "The motion extends from the shoulder, but you also need a slight flick of the wrist at the end to really get the stone in a horizontal trajectory."

Draco stared. "You're showing me how to skip rocks," he said, a note of incredulity in his voice. "We may have the means of decoding perhaps one of the most well known, never translated Ancient Runes and you're bloody telling me how to skip a rock?"

"It's important," said Bill, shrugging. "Every kid should be taught how to skip rocks. My dad taught all of us how too, so I figured I'd pass along the knowledge."

Draco just shook his head in disbelief, though he was secretly pleased that Bill hadn't stayed freaked out over the fact that the sixteen year old next to him could perform Unforgivables, plus he had shown him how to skip a rock. It was almost as if he was with his brother all over again.

Bill smiled and copied the untranslated runes on the board and then returned to his seat next to Draco. There was silence as they simply looked at the runes.

"Have you tried putting this with the Roman Runes?" asked Draco suddenly. "It looks like it."

"It does not," said Bill.

"The shape is the same," said Draco.

"What are you looking at?" asked Bill. "It looks as similar as Harry looks like Snape."

"Black hair, pale skin," said Draco. "It looks the same."

"So you're saying that Harry and Snape look alike?"

"I'm saying that they have similar features," said Draco.

"No," said Bill, shaking his head. "They don't look the same. There is no way they could be related."

"We're not talking about being related," said Draco. "We're talking about looking the same."

"If this dialect fit into the Roman one, they would be related. Snape could not be related to Harry so, ergo, they are not similar looking."

"You're saying that because Snape couldn't be Potter's father, the two dialects aren't related?" asked Draco.

Bill thought for a moment and then, "Yeah. That's about it."

Draco couldn't help but smile, completely incredulous at the Professor. Bill stared at him in shock and then immediately ran to the window and looked outside.

"What are you doing?" asked Draco.

"Making sure the world isn't ending," said Bill. "Because _you_, Draco Lucius Malfoy, just smiled an-honest-to-goodness, genuine smile, and I am sure that you smiling like that must be breaking some law of nature that must bring about the apocalypse or at least tear a hole in the fabric of the universe."

"And you sharing Weasley skipping stone secrets with a Malfoy is perfectly acceptable?" Draco returned, wiping the grin from his face.

Bill let out a sigh of relief. "Good point," he said. "The paradoxes must have cancelled each other out so the universe is safe."

Draco tried to stop the next smile, but it slipped on despite his efforts to remain serious.

"Look at you," said Bill, grinning at him teasingly. "You're like a kid that learned a new word and can't stop using it."

Draco felt his cheeks flush slightly, only partly in embarrassment, and Bill leaned back in his chair, a satisfied expression on his face. Draco scowled, chucked a pencil at him, and then returned back to work.

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To say that the day had been a good one would have been an understatement. Bill packed up his things after Draco had left still smiling triumphantly.

First, he had definitely made progress in the riddle that was Draco Malfoy. Insomniac and hyperactive were added to the character description along with dangerous. Well, dangerous had always been up on the list, but with the new knowledge that Draco could perform two out of the three Unforgiveables was a sobering thought. Bill figured that Draco had told him on purpose. If there was one thing Draco detested, it was being treated like a child. Bill remembered how angry Draco had been when Bill suggested that he had to be supervised over Christmas break.

Draco was one of those people who were forced to grow up to soon and so needed to be related to as an adult. The only problem was that while Draco may be smarter than an adult, he was still a teenager in many ways and there were sometimes when he needed to take the place as a child.

Secondly, Bill had made progress with the teenager that was Draco Malfoy. The kid had actually smiled. It wasn't one of those smirks that he usually pulled or one of those quirks of the lips when he was amused, it was an honest-to-Merlin smile. His teeth had even shown, and Bill had to admit, that with the smile, it was no wonder the boy was the sex icon of the school. While Draco would never be able to pull the rugged look, there was a type of beauty about him that was quite striking.

_And_ Draco had blushed when Bill teased him. To be sure, it was next to nothing when compared to how red any of the Weasley family could turn, but for a moment, there was actually color in the pale, pale skin.

Thirdly, Voldemort hadn't called all Christmas vacation, something that Bill was extremely thankful for. That did not mean that the Death Eaters didn't get together, supposedly they had met for a celebration of their own in Nott's Manor (Snape had informed them), but it meant that Bill could relax. He quickly knocked on one of the wooden doors of an empty classroom so he didn't jinx himself.

Fourthly, Bill was going to propose to a very beautiful, passionate, adventurous, cultured, and funny girl, and while that was more call for nervousness and agitation then actually joy, he felt so good right now, that he was sure she would say yes.

His euphoria ended after dinner with a sharp pain in his arm. As he was in his room, he immediately downed the potions, threw on the invisibility cloak, and grabbed his wand. He raced through the castle, thankful that as it was later in the evening the halls weren't full. He managed to completely avoid most of the students, though he nearly ran into one student who was heading towards the library, though in his haste he didn't see who it was.

Snape was waiting for him by the back exit and while Bill was sure that he had made no noise, the original spy did not start when Bill placed a hand on his shoulder to alert him to his presence.

Without a word, Snape turned and began the long trek past the Hogwarts wards, Bill following in silence. Once they reached the edge of the forest, Snape paused and allowed Bill time to focus in on the destination they were being called to. Bill had to concentrate harder than the average Death Eater, because although he had a bit of the Mark on his forearm, it was quite small so that the Dark Lord would not be alerted to his presence.

"Got it," he whispered once he could picture the clearing in the wood that seemed to be Voldemort's meeting place of choice, as he could remember five others in the same grove, and quickly drew up his shields around his mind so that the Legilimens of the group wouldn't catch a glimpse of his brain.

They both Apparated, Snape disappearing with a crack and Bill merely disappearing, having the advantages of being a very rare Silent Apparater. He appeared, well, materialized in the grove. He didn't really appear because he was wearing the invisibility cloak. He then proceeded to commence on the most nerve-racking part of the night: making his way from the gathering of Death Eaters to the side-lines without being heard or running into anyone.

There was a large gathering tonight and Bill began to sweat as he tried to dodge Death Eaters. It was particularly hard to guess where the masked figures were heading, because he couldn't see their eyes for reference, and their black cloaks blended in with the shadows extremely well. Bill was thankful when the torches around the circle were lit, though it meant he had to get out of there quick because he would still cast a shadow. He made it to the edge of the forest and behind a tree before he allowed himself to relax (the tree was merely for his on psychological comfort than it was a physical necessity of hiding). Mentally checking to make sure that his shields were still up, he took a deep breath and began to listen in.

"Why is it, Severus, that the attack on the French Ministry was anticipated?"

_Shit_, Bill thought grimly. It was one of those 'interrogate Snape' nights. He didn't know why the Potions Master continued to return to this abuse. Bill knew that in time Severus' position would be reaffirmed and that he could once again bring back vital information, but right now, Bill could only marvel at the man's endurance. He didn't scream under the Cruciatus and he didn't blather on or beg for mercy.

Gradually, Voldemort's attention dragged to other members of his following, thought none of them received punishment as harsh as Snape, who was sprawled on the ground, not unconscious, but unable to rise. Bill honestly could not fathom why people still fought to join the ranks of a madman that was not against torturing his most loyal.

Apparently appeased for the night, Voldemort turned his attention to other matters.

"Nott, do you have it yet?" he demanded.

A masked figure stepped forward from the group and bowed low.

"It has been discovered, my lord. One more month is all I ask you."

Well, turns out Voldemort didn't really like that suggestion. Nott fell to the ground screaming.

"Imbeciles!" Voldemort hissed. "All of you. Is this the service you give to me? Lucius, what about you?"

Bill started. He hadn't realized that Malfoy was there; in fact Bill couldn't remember seeing the man at a meeting for weeks. He must have been on a mission.

Lucius stepped forward, just the right amount of arrogant swagger and subservience in his gait.

"Progress has been made, my lord," he said, "although nothing definite as of yet. I shall know more when I return to India but I believe there may be a way."

Bill frowned. A way to what?

"This is all you give me?" Voldemort demanded, raising his wand.

"It is all that can be done as of now," said Lucius.

Bill was surprised; he hadn't thought any of the Death Eaters were allowed to talk back to Voldemort like that, but the wand Voldemort had been raising was lowered. Lucius, to Bill's surprise, continued.

"I asked for this mission even though it was deemed impossible. Impossible things take time. It is getting late now, and you are not yet as strong as you once were. Let us retire for the night, and I shall tell you more of what I have discovered."

"Are you implying that I am weak?" Voldemort demanded.

"Not weak," said Lucius, "but weakened."

Bill waited for the curse to fall on Lucius, but to his surprise, Voldemort chuckled.

"Always the way with words, my light one," he said, almost fondly. "Very well, send these fools away from me and then we shall talk."

Voldemort turned his back and walked a few feet away. Lucius turned to the rest.

"You are dismissed," he said curtly. "Take this lesson to heart and serve him better."

The Death Eaters began Apparating away and Bill watched as Snape slowly raised himself up. The spy's mask was off and his face was pale and sweat dripped down his brow. Bill wondered if Snape was going to make it back to the castle, but then Snape pulled out his wand and Apparated away. Bill waited until Lucius joined Voldemort and the two disappeared as well before Apparating as well.

As soon as he felt his feet touch the forest ground, he threw off the invisibility cloak and whirled around, scanning the ground for Snape. The Potions Master was half-leaning against a tree. Apparently he had tried to stand and had collapsed, finally succumbing to unconsciousness, though his breathing was harsh and ragged.

Bill knelt by Snape's body, pulling off the large, black robe to see if he could ascertain the damage, but he was terrible with healing spells and had no clue where even to start, and the Ennervate he cast had no effect. Bill cursed the fact that it was impossible to Apparate onto Hogwarts grounds, and looked up at the castle, wondering if he should go get help or risk moving the spy.

Normally he would just levitate the Professor, but he knew enough to know that if someone did not respond to a wakening charm, it could mean additional magic might cause the victim to slip into shock. Bill stood, draping the invisibility cloak over the spy for warmth, but making sure to leave the head uncovered so he could find him again, and then sprinted up towards the castle.

It was dark out, as the moon was partially covered by clouds, and the snow crunched underfoot, making the trek to the castle that much harder. He had just reached the hidden back entrance when he became aware that he wasn't quite alone. There was a slight outline of a person leaning against the outside wall and Bill pulled out his wand.

"Show yourself!" he demanded.

The camouflage charm was lifted, revealing the figure of Draco Malfoy who was smirking slightly, nonchalantly propped against the stone wall with a lit cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Need a hand?" Draco asked, taking a drag.

"What are you doing here?" asked Bill, slightly testily. He had a hard, trying night, had an extremely injured spy on his hands, and now was being confronted by the son of the very same man who served the madman Bill was spying on.

Draco cocked an eyebrow at the tone in his voice and Bill saw the eyes cloud over slightly in reaction to the harsh words. Bill had to check himself, knowing that even though right then was not a good time to have a chat with the kid, just telling him off would most likely ruin any progress he had made so far.

He took a breath. "I'm sorry," he said. "But Snape's hurt pretty badly and-"

"Is he conscious?" asked Draco, interrupting.

"No, he wouldn't even rouse to ennerv-where are you going?" Bill asked as Draco pushed off of the wall and started walking in the direction of the forest.

Draco turned around, still walking. "Well, if he's unconscious I can heal him without him knowing that I healed him." He turned back around and started jogging.

"You can heal him?" Bill called after him.

Draco turned again, now jogging backwards. "I'm a genius!" he yelled up. "Now are you coming or what?"

Bill hesitated a moment, before sprinting to catch up with the kid who was now running for the woods and Draco fell back slightly so that Bill could take the lead since he knew where the spy was. Bill stopped when he reached the tree Snape was under and pulled the invisibility cloak off the spy. The breathing was even worse, if possible. Draco dropped to his knees on the other side of the Professor and pulled out his wand. Bill joined him on the ground, watching Draco a little warily.

"Hold this," Draco ordered, thrusting the cigarette in Bill's direction. Bill took the stick of nicotine as Draco ran his wand over Snape's body, stubbed the cigarette out in the snow, and then turned back just as Draco frowned.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concern rushing up.

"Give me a moment," said Draco. He placed his wand on Snape's chest and then closed his eyes. There was a soft glow for a moment and Snape's breathing began to ease. Bill watched as Draco's forehead knit in concentration and then his face seemed to go pale. He reached out in alarm, but Draco opened his eyes and removed his wand.

"You alright?" asked Bill in concern.

"Yeah," said Draco, blinking rapidly as if dizzy and trying to right himself. "Just forgot how much healing takes out of you."

"What did you do?" asked Bill.

"His lung was punctured by his broken ribs," said Draco. "I put the ribs back in place and healed his lung. You can take him up to Pomfrey now."

"You just healed a punctured lung?" asked Bill.

"Yeah," said Draco, shrugging slightly. "I read it in a book."

"You read how to heal a punctured lung in a book and you did it?"

"And put his ribs back into place and stimulated the reproduction on red blood cells in his bloodstream," said Draco. "Do you have my-"

"Put it out," said Bill. "You do know they kill you, don't you? You aren't an addict are you?"

Draco shrugged. "Confiscated them from a mu-Muggle born witch. Figured I needed something to do while I waited."

Bill caught the slight stutter, sure that Draco had just stopped himself from saying 'mudblood' but didn't comment on it.

"Well, don't start now," he said.

"There is no chance in hell I'll ever become an addict," said Draco, his eyes clouding over as if remembering some particularly bad memory. "Anyway," he continued, his expression guarded again, "you'd best get Snape up to Madame Pomfrey. The broken ribs were clean breaks so they healed nicely and so shouldn't leave a scar she would notice. You should be able to levitate him now."

Bill cast the charm on Snape and then grabbed the invisibility cloak. Draco made no move to get up.

"You coming?" Bill asked.

"Figured I wait until you get into the castle before heading out so no one sees us together," he said.

Bill nodded. "Don't stay out too long," he said. "And get right to bed. You look tired."

Draco smirked, though it was a softer gesture. "And I'll brush my teeth before going to bed as well." His tone was slightly mocking and Bill smiled.

"Good night Draco," he said.

"'Night," said Draco, shifting so that he was leaning against the tree.

Bill moved off, floating Snape behind him, though when he got to the castle he draped the invisibility cloak over the Potions Master and brought the spy to Pomfrey. He then retired to his room, writing out the code for his next class. He fell asleep still in his chair, a smile on his face when he remembered Draco's use of Muggleborn and not Mudblood. Perhaps he was changing.

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This is a haiku  
In hopes that you will review  
It makes me happy

Well, I dunno if that's a real haiku, but the point remains, review! Oh, and smoking is bad for your health and I do not support it, so consider yourselves disclaimed on that as well, lol.


	18. Rule 15: Love is weakness

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own the amazing Irish Cream gourmet coffee I am drinking right now in honor of the past holiday even though I'm not Irish. Darn.

Gremlin: sorry about the wait, but it shouldn't never be that long of a wait again, so don't be too angry, thanks for the review  
QuinkyDink: yay! I'm glad that you liked that part, I love throwing in bits of humor and glad that you appreciate them, thanks for reviewing  
Mask: ohhhh, so that's a haiku. Blame it on my lying second grade teacher then, though, now that I think about it, they tell you in second grade that you can't subtract a larger number from a smaller number, but in fifth grade they say that you can, that it's just a negative number, so I guess second grade teachers are just liars…and yes, French swear words are pretty. Know anymore?  
Dbi616: I totally understand about the homework thing, thanks for reviewing

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Chapter 18

_Rule number fifteen: Love is weakness; weaknesses can be exploited. It is the quickest way to pain_.

Valentine's Day was on a Saturday. It was actually rather nice as all of the older students were able to travel into Hogsmeade with their dates. Draco, of course, was going with Pansy who had asked him nearly two weeks in advance and Draco said yes like any other normal, hormonal male teenager would.

As the carriages were to leave in the afternoon, Draco went down to Hagrid's in the morning and saddled up Orion, or rather, bridled him up because the thestral still didn't take to kindly to the saddle. Draco than led him about the course Hagrid had set up inside the pen, letting the thestral get used to the bridle.

"I've been puttin' the bridle on 'im an' lettin' 'im walk 'round a bit each mornin' to get 'im used to it," said Hagrid, watching from the fence.

"How has he been taking it?" asked Draco, tugging lightly when the thestral paused.

"It's been a'right," said Hagrid.

Draco broke into a trot and led Orion through the course a few times before pulling off his school robe. He had his riding clothes on underneath (he had sent home for them) and quickly made sure his boots were tight then pulled on his black leather gloves.

"Sure you're up ta ridin' 'im, Malfoy?" asked Hagrid, watching him in concern.

"'Course," said Draco. He mounted the thestral easily, though Orion reared a bit and pranced nervously. "Whoa, boy," said Draco, pulling back on the reigns and speaking calmly to the animal. The thestral slowly calmed, though Hagrid still looked a little unsure.

"Jus' be careful," said Hagrid.

Draco couldn't help but smirk, which was his rendition of a smile. He really did enjoy riding thestrals, and being the first one to succeed in helping tame the beast was an adrenaline rush.

"I promise that if I break my arm, I won't try to have him executed," said Draco.

"Ya better not," Hagrid muttered and Draco smirked again, then lightly kicked his heels into the thestral's sides and guided him towards the start of the course.

He urged the thestral into a light trot, hyper-alert to their surroundings and the condition of the animal. The first part of the course was simply turning and Orion took them well, shying a bit at the first post, but Draco coaxed him around it. After that, Draco slowly picked up the speed and the headed towards the first hurdle which was only a few inches off of the ground.

Orion balked at the sight, and although Draco tried to steer him around it when he saw that the thestral wasn't going to go over the jump, the thestral instead jerked to a stop almost throwing Draco off.

"Careful!" Hagrid shouted. "Ya alrigh' Malfoy?"

"Fine," said Draco, sliding off the animal and grabbing the reigns. "He's just not ready for it yet."

He led the animal over the hurdle a few times, and then over the next one that was slightly higher. It took some coaxing but Orion finally stepped over, and progressed to actually jumping. He made the animal repeat the motions several times before leading Orion to the water trough and letting him rest a bit. He joined Hagrid by the fence, perching on the top rail.

"He's learning," said Draco.

"Who is?" asked Bill, coming up to join them.

"Orion," said Draco, gesturing to the animal.

"Trainin' 'im fer a show," said Hagrid. "'ow are you feelin', Bill?"

Bill gave a grin that was not quite cheerful and Hagrid pulled out a large, silver flask and wordlessly handed it to Bill.

Bill took it and was about to take a swig, when he turned to Draco.

"Mention this and I will fail you," he said, only half serious. Draco smirked and surmised that Hagrid must know of Bill's plan for the day, so decided that it was too good of an opportunity to pass up teasing his Ancient Runes professor.

"Nervous?" he asked, drawing out the word and smirking wickedly.

Bill's eyes narrowed. "This is why I didn't tell my family that I was proposing," he said. "I'm beginning to regret that I told you."

"You didn't tell me," said Draco. "I figured it out. So where's the lucky girl?"

"She's meeting me there," said Bill, returning the flask to Hagrid.

"Might want to take one of those with you," said Draco, gesturing to the flask. "And where are you meeting her?"

"There is no way I am telling you that," said Bill.

"Don't trust me?" asked Draco.

"Exactly."

"Hurt, Bill, mortally so," said Draco.

"Don't you have a horse to ride and get thrown off of?" asked Bill.

"Then you wouldn't be able to tutor me in Ancient Runes," said Draco. "And then what would happen?" He gave a meaningful look at the red-haired Professor then jumped down from the fence as Bill took a playful swat at him and went back to Orion. This time when he mounted the thestral, Orion took it calmly. Draco took the thestral right at the small jumps and again Orion refused to go over, though this time instead of halting, Draco was able to steer the animal around.

Draco patiently guided Orion back to the jump and it took another two times before the thestral jumped over. Draco grinned, letting the thestral canter about the fence in a victory lap before restarting the course. Orion took the posts beautifully and when they reached the first jump the thestral jumped the small one and the one right afterwards that was slightly higher.

Draco decided to end the session on that note and dismounted, giving Hagrid the reigns.

"I'll be back next Saturday," he said and then grabbed his school robe from off the ground and left the pen.

Bill joined him as he headed back to the castle.

"How long have you been riding?" he asked.

"Since I was little," said Draco.

"Done any shows?" asked Bill.

"Got five medals," said Draco pulling off his gloves, one finger at a time.

"Impressive," said Bill. "How long have you been able to see them?"

Draco liked the way Bill phrased the question. He wasn't asking how he could see them, which would most likely bring up bad memories, or even how old he had been when he could because that would still bring up the subject of how he could see them. Instead, he asked how long, which was only a number.

"It'll be ten years this summer," he said.

"Shouldn't he have a saddle on?" asked Bill.

"He's a little skittish still," said Draco. "I'll have him run a few more times without it then break him into it. Do you ride?"

"Frankly," said Bill. "I'm afraid of heights."

"Even broomsticks?" asked Draco.

"No, not them," said Bill. "Because I'm in control when I ride them, but to ride an animal, I couldn't do that."

Draco smirked, but he could understand it. They went their separate ways after reaching the castle and Draco descended down to the Slytherin common room to shower and change. Even though it was Valentine's, he didn't change his all-black wardrobe, but merely put on black dress pants and a black silk button up shirt. He pulled his hair back in a low pony-tail that it almost fit into, but it was still a bit too short. He then slid on his dress shoes, also black, and grabbed his black cloak and waited for Pansy to come down.

When Pansy did finally descend, she drew all of the attention in the common room. She had on a tight scarlet dress with a low neckline, thin straps, and short enough to show quite a bit of leg. On top of that was a fine white fur cloak. Her hair was down and curled for the innocent look that she would never pull off, but with her striking features and lots of make-up, she looked down right seductive.

Draco grinned when he saw her, held out his arm, and instead of merely linking her arm through his, she clung onto his upper arm, making sure that her front was pressed up against his side. Draco merely smirked, used to her antics and led her towards the carriages.

While Pansy came across as being extremely shallow and 'loose', she was a surprisingly good conversationalist when in private, which was part of the reason Draco liked being around her. And while he knew that in a week or so their 'relationship' would end, she would always be sure to end it before moving on, which was another reason he liked her. The last part was that she was a very beautiful girl and although she wasn't really bragging material, as half of the Slytherin males had been with her, she was very talented.

They had their carriage to themselves and Pansy immediately made herself comfortable, practically sitting in his lap and reaching up to latch her rose-red lips onto his pale ones.

"Nott's been talking about you," she said, pressing a few more kisses on his jaw line.

"Is that so?" Draco asked, pulling her all the way onto his lap. She gave a little victorious grin at that and shifted so that she was straddling him.

"Last night, all he did was talk about you, how he hated you," she whispered into his ear, one hand holding onto his shoulder, her nails digging into his skin while the other traced down from his neck to his chest. "It was really quite boring so I was rather glad to tell him it was over this morning."

"I'm sorry that I made your night tedious," said Draco. "It was completely unintentional."

"You should probably watch yourself these next few da-, mmmm," she cut off as he ducked his head and captured her lips. Her hands reached up to slide around his neck and he could feel her pulling the tie out of his hair as she moaned into his mouth, pressing further up onto him.

"What else?" he managed, not pulling away to talk, but managing to speak around her mouth.

She pulled back, capturing his hands with her own. "He thinks you've gone soft. That you aren't taking this mudblood problem seriously."

"He's been harping on that since day one," said Draco, leaning forward, but she avoided his kiss.

"He's getting determined," she said, her voice sliding out of her husky, sexy tone and into the one she used when discussing something important. "I think he may be planning something. You'd better watch Blaise as well."

"I do," said Draco, twisting out of her grip and leaning forward again, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"Draco," she said, her dark eyes sincere. "Be careful. You're smarter than you let on, but even that won't help you against him. He's got most of the seventh years on his side and they're already mad that they have to take orders from you. Just be careful, alright?"

He dropped his façade too. "I know," he said quietly. "I'll watch myself, but you let me know if they're going after Blaise, alright?"

She nodded. "The things I do for you," she said, her voice once again lower and dripping with lust. He smirked, his eyes going cold and cloudy again and just like that, they put their masks back on.

"Can I help it that I'm just more man than the rest?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Her only response was to entwine her fingers in his now-loose hair and delving deep into his mouth, grinding her hips onto his. His hand trailed down from her hair to her waist, then slipping around her back to see if he could find the catch to her dress. Her hands caught his wrists and loosely pinned his arms above his head.

"I do have to be presentable when we get out of the carriage," she scolded him.

"Are you saying the morning after look won't do?" Draco asked.

She smiled slightly. "Tonight," she promised, giving him one last lingering kiss and then pulling away and straightening her dress as the carriage came to a halt. Once she fixed herself, she brushed his hair with her fingers, combing through his locks, though they stayed rather disheveled.

He helped her out of the carriage and then offered her his arm again. This time she linked her arm though his, shaking her hair back and giving him an endearing smile.

"Where to, then?" she asked.

"I was thinking the Solstice," said Draco.

Her eyes widened. "You got reservations?"

"I did indeed," said Draco.

"Keep spoiling me like this and I may think you actually care," she said, rewarding him with a kiss that made nearby pedestrians hoot and catcall. "Lead on then."

After their late lunch, they walked the streets of Hogsmeade that were decorated for the occasion. The main square was hung with red hearts and pink streamers and a few couples walked along the cobblestone pathway near the frozen fountain or sat in the iron wrought benches but, as it was still rather cold, most everyone was indoors.

Pansy went straight to the fountain, stepping up on the low wall and walking around it, holding onto the hand Draco held up for support since her red stiletto heels weren't meant for walking icy walls.

"I don't particularly like Valentine's Day," she said.

"It gives you an excuse to wear that dress," said Draco, tightening his grip on her hand as she slipped a little. She caught herself with a little laugh.

"True," she said, "but I honestly just think it's an excuse for good people to behave immorally."

"Then they weren't really good to begin with, were they? A true good person would use this time to… propose to their girlfriend," he said, thinking of Bill. The professor definitely qualified as a good person.

"I suppose," she said. "But how about the fact that people are always remarking about how love is priceless and then a day like today comes along and all of a sudden if you don't by your significant other a nice enough gift, then you don't really love them. However, if you want to make it look like you love them, you buy them a really grand gift."

"Like this?" asked Draco, pulling out a black box from his pocket. She squealed and jumped off the wall into his arms. He set her down on the ground gently and then handed her the box. She opened it like a child at Christmas. Inside was a very expensive gold-braid bracelet.

"You spoil me," she said, holding out her hand and he obligingly fastened it on her wrist.

"It's easy to spoil you," he said. "You're so gorgeous."

"So you spoil me because I'm gorgeous?" she asked, pouting prettily.

"And you let me know when someone has a death wish for me," said Draco.

"Oh, I don't mind being spoiled merely because I'm beautiful," she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Draco couldn't help but smirk and pulled her in for a kiss that probably wasn't decent in public, but as it was Valentine's Day, no one could say anything.

"I'm trying to get Peter," she said, once they broke apart for air.

"Not today," said Draco, claiming her lips once more until she gave that little whimper that he knew no other person had managed to evoke from her.

"I suppose I could give you a few days," she gasped, hanging onto his neck for support. "But only a few days. I'm not a settling type of girl."

"I wouldn't like you if you were," said Draco truthfully.

She giggled, and skipped off, laughing alluringly over her shoulder. He smirked and followed at a slower pace, though close enough to hear her exclaim "Fleur! What are you doing here?"

Draco looked up to see the French blonde at the side of Bill Weasley. Both of them had blissful smiles on their faces, and their fingers were entwined, swinging back and forth as they walked.

"Pansy?" asked Fleur, catching sight of the black-haired girl. The two girls ran to meet each other, both grabbing onto each others arms and talking a mile a minute. Draco shook his head at their antics, but noticing that Fleur showed Pansy her left hand and Pansy gave a little scream of delight.

Draco joined Bill who was staring at his fiancé with an amazed expression on his face.

"I take it she said yes then," said Draco.

"She said yes," Bill confirmed, relief and euphoria in his voice. "I'm writing home to tell mother tonight so that by tomorrow everyone of importance will know."

"Congratulations," said Draco.

"Thanks," said Bill. "You dating Pansy?"

Draco smirked. "No one dates Pansy," he said. "Haven't you heard the rumors?"

Bill frowned, and so Draco tried to change the topic. Honestly, he doubted Bill could take the truth, that Pansy was convenient and the only Slytherin girl with a brain, and that even though they said all of these sweet things to each other and had spent countless nights together, it wasn't love they felt. Or that Draco refused to be with any other girl because of the underlying fear that they would turn out like his mother, but that with Pansy he didn't have to worry, because everyone knew she was an easy lay and that she would always tell him when they were over so he would never fear the shock and betrayal of having to find out that she was cheating. When it came down to it, he would rather share than face that hurt. So, he tried to change the subject, because Bill was happy and he was one of those good people who proposed on Valentine's Day rather than behaved immorally and he deserved to keep his happiness.

"Do you have a date in mind?" he asked, but Bill had never been one to follow the shift in topic, not even when it was for his own good.

"You could do better," he said.

Draco shook his head. "I'm not a saint, Bill, don't try to make me one. Just because I've gone soft with you doesn't mean I'm suddenly a nice guy. I take what's offered, maybe even beyond that. Pansy, she's cool. She'll give you what you want, no strings attached. She's already tainted, so I'm not ruining her innocence or her reputation. That's the type of girl boys like me get, that's the type we should get."

"It's not-" Bill protested, but Draco cut him off.

"It is like that," he said. "And honestly, would you like to see someone like me with a girl like Fleur? Or with your sister or even Granger? They're innocent. I don't touch innocent; I have a habit of marring it."

Bill was silent for a moment. "That's not the entire story, is it?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" asked Draco.

"'Marriage is just an excuse to shag four times a day'," said Bill. "That's what you said. You don't believe in marriage or love or even dating, do you? You're afraid of women."

"What?" Draco asked.

"You're afraid that they'll go behind your back," said Bill. "Like your mother. I have heard the rumors, and that's why you're with Pansy, aren't you? Because you know she'll cheat."

"She doesn't cheat," said Draco. "She ends it and moves on."

"And you like that because you know where she stands, right? You have your fun and then she tells you it's over and goes right to shagging another guy, so that way you can see that it's over and you're never guessing to where her affections really lie. You're not wondering if she's being faithful."

Draco didn't answer, but watched the two girls. Fleur was in a white shirt and pink skirt with a soft brown cloak. Her hair was down and curled and she clearly captured the innocent look Pansy had been trying for, but hers was genuine. He could see her eyes sparkle with tears of happiness as she looked at her ring.

Pansy acted. Even when she was feeling genuine happiness for a friend, she was always conscious of how she looked, which angle showed off her curves better. Draco felt an instant of burning jealous at Bill, knowing that Bill would never have to worry about Fleur cheating on him, but he shook it off.

Rule number fifteen: Love is weakness; weaknesses can be exploited. It is the quickest way to pain.

"Merlin," said Bill quietly. "You seriously are messed up, aren't you?"

Draco detected quite a bit of sadness and pity in his voice, but he didn't respond. Pansy and Fleur came over then.

"Bill, this is Pansy," said Fleur, her accent still noticeable but not overwhelmingly so. "I roomed with her during the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

"I've seen you around," said Bill, nodding to Pansy. "But you're not in my class."

"No," said Pansy. "Ancient Runes is way over my head. Fleur, this is Draco."

"Pleasure," said Fleur. "You are in my Bill's class?"

"Yes," said Draco, giving Fleur a slight nod. "He's a very good teacher. Congratulations."

"Thank you," said Fleur.

Draco inclined his head to the two of them and Pansy smiled brightly and then they moved off, letting the two good people alone. As soon as they had gone a few feet, Pansy latched onto his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. Draco responded eagerly, not at all caring that they were in plain sight of Bill, because Draco didn't need his pity. He was fine the way he was, or at least, that's what he kept telling himself and when night had fallen and when he felt the beginning pains of loneliness, he merely got up and filled his head with even more facts and figures until way past midnight, attempting to drown out the overwhelming silence.

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Bill couldn't sleep, still feeling incredible at the knowledge that he was going to get married to the most wonderful girl in the world and so at midnight he was still sitting in his armchair at his fireplace, a half-empty glass of Firewhisky in his hand. He was still smiling as well, remembering what had happened.

He had taken her to the little café that had been their first date. She had looked absolutely gorgeous with her hair down and curling around her face in the style he liked so much. He knew that she had worn it like that for him, because she preferred it pulled back and out of her way, and the knowledge that she had done her hair like that for him gave him the courage to pull out the long, thin necklace box from the jewelers.

She had smiled at him and opened the box only to discover the ring he had hidden inside. He had gotten down on one knee in the café, not paying attention to all of the costumers exclaiming and smiling at the scene.

He had taken her hand and simply told her what he felt. _"You, Fleur, are the most amazing woman I have ever met, and although I cannot think of one good reason that would make me deserve you, I can only ask that you will be my wife, because I know that if you say yes, I could never be in want for anything else in my life, and if you say yes, I promise that I will try my hardest so that you will never be in want as well."_

And the little audience they had attracted had held their breath along with him as Fleur looked from the ring to him with tears in her eyes and then she had sobbed out a yes and had thrown herself into his arms laughing and crying all at the same time. The audience had cheered and wiped tears from their eyes and for the rest of the time they spent in the shop, they couldn't stop laughing, finally going outside where they were content to walk hand in hand along the streets.

He frowned, the smile finally sliding from his face as he remembered the encounter with Draco. He had wondered why the kid was with Pansy, a girl that, as Bill understood from the rumors, never stayed with the same boy for more than a month at a time. He would have thought that Draco turn out to be one of those controlling boyfriends in response to his mother's actions, not going after someone just like Narcissa, but Draco never lived up to expectations, he shot them to pieces.

It was apparent that the kid honestly believed he wasn't they type of boy for a nice girl, and Bill had to agree with him. Bill would not want Draco to be with his sister; in fact he would do anything in his power to stop it because Draco was not an innocent. But still, he couldn't help but feel bad for Draco. The kid was disillusioned; going out with a girl because he knew that she would never cheat on him because she was so easy she had no qualms telling him when she was sleeping with another boy. It was one of the worst things he had ever heard.

He remembered watching them as they moved off, seeing how Pansy had reached up and kissed him with that mouth that had kissed so many already, and how Draco had responded in kind, pulling her in closer…it was both disgusting and heart-wrenching at the same time.

Bill shook his head. Draco knew that he was jaded, had even tried to spare Bill the truth and change the topic, but Bill hadn't taken the bait. He frowned again. The kid had no qualms telling him that he had learned the Cruciatus at twelve, so why would he try to spare Bill the knowledge that he was so cynical when it came to ideas of love?

He suddenly smiled, an unexpected laugh making its way past his lips to echo in the room. Draco had been trying to _spare_ him the knowledge. He shook his head again.

"You're not completely tainted yet, Draco," he said out loud. The fact alone that Draco had been trying to spare him meant that Draco wasn't as far gone as he believed himself to be. "There's hope left for you, kid," said Bill, raising the glass of alcohol up in a silent toast and then drained it. He blew out his candle and crawled into bed.

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Hey! If you are glad that I'm back and writing again, leave a review, let me know what you think!


	19. Rule 16: If you know you are

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own…umm, well, nothing more that's really interesting, besides this plot that is, lol.

Mask: Well, share them! And shocked? Meh, I was bored, and it's not that bad, is it?  
Lazy Chicklepea: Lol, I like that. And I'm glad that you liked Pansy, I didn't know which way to go with her, so I think she ended up rather unique, thanks for reviewing  
dbi626: Thanks for the review, and Bill and Draco really do look out for each other, I'm glad you picked that up  
Yeah: Thanks for reviewing, and I'm glad that you like the plotline and my writing style, I feel thoroughly flattered

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Chapter 19

_Rule number sixteen: If you know you are going to fail, always make sure that someone or something else will take the blame._

February slowly turned into March, bringing with it a deluge of attacks across France from the Death Eaters residing there and more letters from Lucius, reminding Draco of his duty at the end of the year, and also hinting at an event to take place soon that would be cause for celebration. Draco took to burning the letters after he read them and not sending a reply.

Along with March came an onslaught of the flu, which took out a third of the teaching staff and nearly half of the students. Draco escaped unscathed; Bill did not and was confined to the infirmary for a whole week, or at least, Pomfrey attempted to confine him for a week.

"What the hell are you doing here?" asked Draco, catching sight of the teacher lurking outside the Ancient Runes classroom after Thursday's lesson, which, to Draco's disgust, had been taught by McGonagall.

"I've escaped," Bill whispered, glancing around and then darting into the empty classroom.

Draco stared after him. The teacher was still in the white hospital pajamas, but had thrown a large knit sweater over the top that featured a large 'B' sewn onto the chest. He was also wearing a pair of thick socks but no shoes.

"Well," Bill hissed, poking his head out the door, "are you coming or what?"

Draco dubiously entered the classroom and Bill shut the door behind him and then breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm free," he smiled triumphantly. He practically skipped to the teacher's desk and began pulling out the parchments of Ancient Runes notes. "Come on then, Draco," he said, looking up. "You do want to work on the code, right?"

"You're not really supposed to be up, are you?" Draco asked.

"No," said Bill. "But that woman was driving me insane. I told her that if she made me drink one more potion I was leaving, and what did she do?"

"Made you drink another potion," surmised Draco.

"Exactly," said Bill. "So I left. Besides, it's not like I'm deathly ill or anything."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he lapsed into a violent coughing fit. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you dare say anything," ordered Bill, recovering and bringing all of the papers to the table.

Draco smirked. "Or what?" he asked.

"Or I'll cough on you," said Bill. "And then leave you to the tender mercies of Pomfrey."

"I hate to break it to you Bill, but seeing as you've been on meds for five days, you're no longer contagious," said Draco.

Bill muttered under his breath something that sounded suspiciously like 'damned know-it-all' and Draco smirked even wider.

"So, I was thinking," began Bill.

"There's a shocker," said Draco.

Bill scowled. "I'm ill here," he said. "Be kind. Anyway, I was thinking while I was imprisoned in solitary confinement by the evil witch who resides in the uppermost tower and something just hit me out of the blue."

"Too bad it didn't hit you harder," said Draco dryly.

"Could you just shut it for a moment?" asked Bill. "I'm trying to relate the moment of my brilliance."

"Just one moment?" asked Draco, innocently.

Bill stared at him. "You aren't normally this talkative," he said. "Whatever happened to sullen, cynical, I-am-the-Ice-Prince-and-do-not-deign-to-talk-to-lowly-mortals Draco?"

Draco shrugged. Honestly, he didn't know what was the matter with him. All he knew was that he had the most horrid class of Ancient Runes with the evil Gryffindor head of house and had been thoroughly disappointed that his after class session with Bill had been cancelled, and then Bill had shown up and Draco was just managing to hold back a smile.

Bill reached out and Draco flinched slightly, but Bill merely laid a hand on his forehead.

"You don't have a fever," he said, "but who knows, maybe your genius has finally driven you insane."

Draco glared and shoved Bill's hand off of his head. Bill broke into a grin.

"There he is!" he said, mock excitedly, and Draco scowled. Bill continued. "Anyway, so I was thinking, what if the numbering system was off?"

"Numbering system?" asked Draco.

"We assumed that we would have to take the runes I found on the dig and compare them with the first Persian dialect because the first Persian dialect-"

"Would be the first deviation of the language," Draco finished. "Are you saying that perhaps it's backwards?"

"I'm saying that we only think the first Persian dialect is the first Persian dialect because it was the one on the top of the left column," said Bill. "But what if they counted from right to left, or down to up."

"So you're saying that we have to try each one of the four dialects that were on the top and bottom of the two columns," said Draco, "when we haven't even made headway with one?"

"I'm saying perhaps the reason we haven't made headway with one is because we're using the wrong dialect," said Bill.

"You realize that if this doesn't help, we're just making more work for ourselves?" asked Draco.

"Well, yeah," said Bill, "but maybe it will be easier than we think."

Draco shot him a look of disbelief but got to work.

Next Saturday was to be the Gryffindor-Slytherin rematch game as the Quidditch pitch was finally reconstructed since the attack in the early fall which had put the entire season on pause. That meant that not only were the games going to be only a few weeks apart, but that the pitch was almost constantly booked for practice. It really was torture as Draco had practice nearly every day and sometimes late at night when Warrington would pull him out of bed to practice after curfew.

Normally, he would just tell Warrington to bugger off, but Warrington had the entire team practicing then, so Draco couldn't very well refuse. Besides, the late night practices really put him right to sleep when he got back.

On Wednesday, Quidditch was called off for the rest of the year, although the fault was not any of the students, which really was surprising because there was nearly an ugly altercation between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins.

The Slytherin team had the pitch right before dinner five to six. The Gryffindors had it right after them, so of course the Slytherin team was planning to have their practice run late, just to annoy their rivals.

"Oy, Warrington!" Harry called at one minute of six. "It's our field now."

The burly seventh year flew down so that he was hovering in Potter's face. "It isn't your pitch yet," he said, watching his watch. The seconds ticked by. "_Now_ it's your field," he said, once the minute passed. "Harris, Petrov," he called up to two of the Chasers, "how about you run through that play a couple more times. I don't have anything better to do tonight. Malfoy, let's see another Andy's Maneuver."

Draco suppressed a groan. He was tired, sore, and had been pulling Andy's all day. He was bound to make a mistake sometime tonight and practically destined to land sprawling on his face, and he just hoped it wasn't right then in front of Potter and his gang.

"Warrington," Harry ordered. "It's our pitch now. You have to leave!"

"And what are you going to do about it?" jeered Warrington. "Get McGonagall?"

"If you won't leave," said Harry calmly, "then yes."

Draco tried not to be impressed. It seemed that the little boy-hero had done quite a bit of maturing over the break, normally Harry would have screamed some more.

"How about we settle this a more manly way," said Warrington. "Pursuit."

Draco landed next to his team captain and the Boy-Who-Lived, wondering if Harry was really going to take the challenge.

"What's that?" asked Harry suspiciously.

Warrington turned to his team and they all burst into laughter.

"Really, Potter," drawled Draco, speaking up because he was cold and wanted to get this over with so that he could go in. "What do those Muggles do to you over the summer? Lock you in a cupboard?"

The Slytherins guffawed even harder; Harry flinched, his jaw tightening. Draco was surprised, realizing that he must have hit somewhat close to the truth to elicit that reaction. He decided to reflect on it later and continued.

"Pursuit is a racing game," said Draco in his this-is-so-obvious tone of voice. "Two players are involved and they start at the goalposts at one end of the field. They have to make it down to the other side, loop in and out through all three hoops and then come back. It's called Pursuit because one player gets a three second head start. If the second player ties or passes with the other player, then he wins. If he doesn't, the first player wins."

"So what do you say, Potter," asked Warrington. "Feel like you can catch me? If you win, we'll leave the pitch, no argument."

"Deal," said Harry.

"Good," said Warrington.

Harry mounted his broom and shot off for the goal post. Warrington turned to Draco.

"Give me your broom so I can beat the bugger," he commanded.

Draco looked up at Potter and then returned his gaze to Warrington. "Not a good idea," he said coolly.

"What?" Warrington practically spat.

"You don't really think that you can beat him, do you?" asked Draco. "This way when you do lose spectacularly, you can blame it on the fact that Potter has a better broom than you. If you do use mine, which is new and top of the line, you have no excuse."

Rule number sixteen: If you know you are going to fail, always make sure that someone or something else will take the blame.

Warrington turned red. "I swear Malfoy," he began, but Draco cut him off.

"Fine, take it," he said, shoving his new Meteor broomstick into Warrington's face.

Warrington grabbed the broom, discarding his own on the ground, and then taking off to join Potter in the air. There really wasn't any competition.

The two lined up at the goal posts and Warrington zoomed off, followed three seconds later by Potter, who received the signal from Harris who was timing. Draco was pretty sure that the three seconds had actually been closer to four, but Harry didn't need it. The black haired Seeker had caught up with Warrington at the posts, overtaken him when they were looping through, and then beat Warrington by a good five seconds on the way back.

Draco smirked as Warrington landed to the laughter and taunts of the Gryffindor team and caught his broom when Warrington chucked it at him.

"Let's change," said Warrington, jerking his head and the Slytherin team walked off to the shower room. It was then that chaos broke out.

Draco was only aware of the fact that at one moment he was walking, the next he was airborne in a rush of heat and roaring, and then he was sprawled on the grass, hitting his temple painfully on the ground and his ears ringing. He whirled around to see that the entire field had burst into twenty foot flames.

He ran forward, a hand up to protect his face from the heat, grateful that there were fire-proof charms on his broom. He could just make out the figure of Potter dragging the limp form of the Weasel away from the fire and a quick scan accounted for the rest of the Gryffindor team as well. He drew his gaze back to the fearsome blaze of the fire, frowning when he saw that the fire wasn't burning out of control or even growing at all, but was staying in its shape. He suddenly had an idea to what that shape could be.

He mounted his broom and kicked off, soaring straight up into the sky, past the flames, and higher still. When he finally halted and looked down, he saw his suspicions were confirmed. The fire was set in a pre-designated burn pattern that was visible from up above. It was the Dark Mark.

He took his broom down back to earth and landed just as teachers rushed over and began trying to subdue the flames. Draco already knew that because the fire wasn't giving off any smoke, it wouldn't be stopped by water or magic but would need a potion. The seriously injured students, which were mainly the Gryffindor team, were being brought up on stretchers while the rest were directed up as well to get check over.

Draco obediently followed the lot up to the infirmary, though it was quite awhile before Pomfrey got around to checking the slightly injured because of the serious nature of the other victims. As Draco wasn't making a large and obnoxious fuss like the rest of the slightly injured, which were mainly Slytherins, he was the last one checked out of them as well. Halfway through Pomfrey's examination of him, Bill, Dumbledore, McGonagall and Granger came rushing in.

"Quiet!" scolded Madame Pomfrey, leaving his side and going to head off the group. Draco rolled his eyes and sat back down on the bed to wait until the Q & A session was over with. He really was fine, just a slight throbbing in his head where he had hit the ground and his ears were still ringing. He suspected a slight concussion, but it was nothing that a simple potion couldn't cure in a snap.

"Where's Ron and Ginny?" asked Bill urgently, concern making his face lined and pale. "Are they alright?"

"Ronald has a broken leg and is quite scorched up," said Pomfrey. "He'll be fine once the bone heals and the burn salve sits for a few hours."

"And Ginny?" demanded Bill.

"She hit her head quite hard," said Pomfrey. "And her left hand was…mangled."

"What do you mean mangled?" asked Bill, a catch in his voice.

"We're sending in for a surgeon right now," said Pomfrey. "With a few weeks of physical therapy, she should regain full use of her hand."

"Use of her hand?" asked Bill, his face going even paler. McGonagall gripped his shoulder to offer what Draco supposed would be comfort.

"Can I see her?" asked Bill.

"The third bed from the end," said Pomfrey pointing down the row to a bed with the curtains pulled shut. Bill nodded and moved off. "Ron and Harry are in the beds next to her," said Pomfrey to Hermione and the girl left as well.

"How bad is it, Poppy?" asked Dumbledore.

"Could have been worse," said Pomfrey. "From what I understand there was a slight altercation between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins, and so most of the players were still on the sidelines, shielding them from the worst of the blast."

"Thank Merlin for Slytherins then," said Dumbledore. "Everyone else will make a full recovery, yes?"

"I believe so," said Madame Pomfrey. "If you wait a moment, I can give you the full report."

She returned to Draco's side and he was annoyed to see that Dumbledore and McGonagall followed her over.

"Anything hurt besides your head?" she asked, filling out a chart as she looked him over.

"No," said Draco.

"Nausea, dizziness, upset stomach?"

"No," said Draco, trying to look anywhere but the two professors watching him.

"Follow my finger," she said, holding up her index finger and moving it to the right and then to the left, watching his eyes to see if one was more dilated then the other or if he had trouble tracking her finger, which might mean a severe concussion. "Good. Now let's see this bruise on that pretty face of yours."

Draco blinked at the school nurse in shock, but she was already tilting his head to the left to better see the swelling. Draco looked up to see McGonagall's lips tightening in suppressed amusement and Dumbledore's eyes twinkling. He resolutely looked away again.

"Are you having any double vision, or seeing any black spots?" asked the nurse, now running her wand over the bruise.

"My ears are ringing," said Draco. "Other than that, no."

"Slight concussion," said Pomfrey. She went to the cart of potions and pulled out a small vial of yellow-green liquid and then returned. "Drink all of this and you can go."

Draco uncorked the bottle, looking at it suspiciously, before downing it in one toss like a drinker taking shots.

"You are cleared to go," said Pomfrey, taking the vial from him.

He nodded to the nurse and then grabbed his broom and left, nearly running into Bill who had come over to speak with Pomfrey. Draco gave him a small smile that Bill half-heartedly returned and then left the infirmary.

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Bill could hardly stand giving Draco a smile of greeting; he felt as if he could only truly smile once his youngest brother and sister were up and running around again. Even then, the mere knowledge that they had nearly died was a shock in itself that may entirely ruin his chances of smiling at all for the next ten years. Bill honestly didn't know if he could cope with it.

He knew that _he_ might die, in fact if he did, it frankly wouldn't surprise him. He was spying on the most powerful Dark Wizard in the world, and he knew that doing such would mean he might have to pay the consequences. He had never thought that Ron or Ginny would die. They were in school, in Hogwarts with Dumbledore and their older brother. They shouldn't have been at risk; he should have been watching them.

He knew that it was pure folly to think that he was going to be able to protect them, or even that he was responsible for them, but at the same time he felt a burning desire to keep them from harm. And right now, even though he knew it was pointless, he was going to beat himself up for letting them get hurt.

He approached McGonagall. "I'm going to write home and explain what happened," he told the older witch. "After that, is there anything you need me to do?"

"No, you sit with your brother and sister," said McGonagall. "That's where you need to be right now."

"Thank you," said Bill. He ran to his room and jotted off a quick note to Molly Weasley, telling her what had happened and that she might want to come in. No doubt the clock at home was already going crazy. He sent the letter off and then returned to the infirmary.

The hospital wing was empty now, save the patients and Pomfrey. Bill took the straight back chair between Ron and Ginny's bed in case any of them moved. Harry took part in the vigil, as he had only suffered a few bumps and bruises and was merely staying in the hospital wing for a night of observation.

Later that evening Mrs. Weasley finally made it to the school, bustling over to be folded in the embrace of her eldest son.

"They'll be alright," Bill reassured her with a calm that he didn't feel and words that he didn't believe.

"What happened?" asked Mrs. Weasley, taking the uninjured hand of her only daughter and smoothing her hair back.

"The field just burst into flames," said Bill. "They say it could have been a lot worse than it was."

"Death Eaters?" asked his mother, now going to Ron's side.

"Most likely, but we're keeping that on the low," said Bill.

Molly Weasley went to Harry last, giving him a hug as well. "At least one of my boys is okay," she said, making Harry break into a smile.

They lapsed into silence, keeping vigil over the two siblings who lay completely still on their beds, still and quiet, the only sign they weren't dead was the fall and rise of their chests and the soft breathing that became noticeable as their ears adjusted to the oppressive silence.

Bill had nearly listed into sleep when there was a sharp pain on his left arm making him jerk upright with a gasp.

"What's wrong?" asked Mrs. Weasley in concern.

"Nothing," Bill managed to say without grimacing. "I just should probably go up to bed as I have class tomorrow and no one's covering for me. I'll be back in the morning," he promised, giving his mother a kiss on the cheek and then leaving hurriedly from the infirmary.

Once out of the hospital wing he broke into a run, grabbing the necessary supplies and then making his way outside. It was a bitter, cloudy night and he and Severus exchanged no greeting to each other.

This time when he Apparated, Bill found himself once more in the grove, but this time he made his way easily to the edge of the wood because the Death Eaters were forming a large circle around a stone altar lit by flickering torches. Bill didn't even have to go to the wood, but stood outside the circle, wondering what was happening.

All of the Death Eaters arrived in the space of four minutes, but still Voldemort did not show. It was apparent that Snape had no clue to what was happening either, as another Death Eater actually had to pull him into place. He was still not trusted.

Voldemort appeared with a crack in the middle of the circle, right beside the table a few moments later, dressed in black pants, boots, and an open, blood-red cloak.

"My loyal servants," he hissed, sweeping around the table to survey every one of the hooded figures, "today, your lord regains his powers in order to purge our race of the unworthy, of the unclean, and you, you are the favored ones in my sight. Every work that you have done in my name will be rewarded most generously when my reign begins!"

There was no applause or cheering, just reverent silence.

"Nagini!" Voldemort hissed, and then he said something completely unintelligible, speaking in Parseltongue. The great snake slithered between the mask figures that created the circle of dark shapes, and halted before the man.

"Nagini, into you I have placed a part of my soul," Voldemort said, speaking to the serpent as he stroked its head. "And now I take back what is mine. You have been a true protector. Lucius, bring the victim forth!"

Bill jerked his head around to see Lucius Malfoy come forth from the woods, unmasked and behind him trailed a young girl, stumbling to keep up, blood matting her blonde hair. She looked around, not in fear or terror, but detachment. Bill knew what it was. Lucius was controlling her through the Imperius curse.

"The life of one untainted, holy, and virgin," said Voldemort, "laid down willingly for the one whose soul has been broken, will heal the spirit and restore the power." He sounded as if he was reciting a prophecy.

Bill watched as the girl willingly climbed upon the altar. Now that she was in the light of the torches, he could see the bruises on her face and arms.

As one, the Death Eaters began chanting, a disjointed, cacophony of sound that made the grove seem to fill with the voices of demons and the screams of the suffering. A cold, damp wind whipped around the circle, lashing the flames on the torches into a wild, frenzied dance as Voldemort pulled a ceremonial dagger from his robe and laid it on the stone slab in front of the girl.

"Command her, Lucius!" Voldemort ordered and Bill felt nausea and horror rise up at the knowledge of what would happen. He wanted to run in, to stop the ritual, but he knew that he would be unable to save her.

Lucius seemed to be concentrating as the chanting rose in volume. The girl seemed to finally be struggling against the curse, tears spilling down her face and half-strangled whimpers sounding loud over the hellish noise. Lucius narrowed his gaze and all struggle stopped. The girl raised the dagger, the chants reached their crescendo, Bill looked away, hearing the scream of the girl as there was a sickening sound of steel sliding into flesh…..

Bill staggered back from the meeting and into the castle, ignoring Snape's demand that he take off the invisibility cloak and talk. What was there to talk about? He had just witnessed the 'suicide' of a girl who could be no more than thirteen by a mad-man. He remembered what had happened next. There was a pure white light that rose from the girl that wrapped itself around the snake Nagini. The snake had writhed, spitting and hissing, and then finally collapsing as the white light exited the animal, within it a black, pulsating darkness.

The light and dark had rushed straight into Voldemort's chest, and the Dark Lord had screamed, fallen to his knees, shaking and trembling, but then he had arisen, a new light in his red eyes. He had cast his mark high into the sky, laughing triumphantly as he looked down at the body of the girl with the blonde hair stained red with blood.

"A pity she had to be a virgin," he had remarked to the Death Eaters, who had jeered and laughed raucously and left for their own celebrations on the nearby Muggle town. Bill had Apparated straight back to Hogwarts, ignoring the Potions Master who called around to the night, looking for him.

He staggered into his room, throwing off the invisibility cloak as he ran for his private bathroom. He just made it to the toilet, clutching at the cool porcelain as all of the revulsion and abhorrence and evilness of the night caught up with him, making him physically ill. He was shaking and trembling and gasping as his mind replayed the girl's death over and over again in his mind.

He heaved repeatedly in the toilet, but nothing more came up, save bile and stomach acid. He stayed there for the rest of the night, finally drifting off into sleep, but when it came, it was full of dreams of that blonde-haired girl, but then the blonde hair had turned into red and he found to his horror that it was Ginny on that stone alter. He ran forward, trying to get to his baby sister, but flames had shot up from the altar and Ron had come stumbling out, his clothes on fire and screaming in agony.

He jolted awake, sweat pouring down his face as he realized that the screams had been his own. He promptly threw up into the toilet again.

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So the plot thickens (duh-duh-dunnnnnnn!). Intrigued, scared, interested, leave a review. In need of therapy because it was dark and you weren't expecting it, leave a review and go talk to a shrink. On second thought, don't; they cost way too much money (lol).


	20. Rule 17: Trust no one

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own the 14 journals I have to write sometime before Thursday because I have been procrastinating rather badly. Ooops.

Dbi626: Thanks for the review, and yes, Bill is seeing the true evilness of Death Eaters, which might be why he is about to react the way he does in the chapter…  
QuinkyDink: Mmm, I love weekends too, and no, not Ginny, I really don't think I could kill her off…anyways, thanks for the review and compliments!  
Chicklepea: I have been known as confusing before, so it's alright, and I'm glad that the fire on the pitch was original, because it's so hard to find new ways to attack Hogwarts because it's all been done before, lol  
Gremlin: You're def. on the right track, Bill is seriously messed up having to watch all of that, and so that must be taken into consideration when you see how he acts in this chapter, so don't hate him too much

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Chapter 20

_Rule number seventeen: Trust no one._

Draco hadn't expected to see Bill in class. He had thought that the Professor would have been sitting at the bedside of his siblings, but then he had spotted the code on the board and he knew what had happened. Bill had been called and it was obvious that he was not doing well. There were dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes and his face was practically grey. He lacked energy in that class, becoming easily distracted and losing his train of thought.

No one held it against him as his two younger siblings were in a horrific accident, but Draco knew that wasn't the whole story. The code read 'R regained H from Nagini', meaning that Voldemort had just doubled his power by restoring a part of his soul.

Draco didn't know exactly how the restoration had been accomplished because no books in the school actually covered that topic, but he could make an educational guess. If the splitting of his soul meant that Voldemort had to murder, it probably meant that someone had to willingly die for Voldemort to reunite that piece of the soul within him. While a Death Eater probably _would_ commit ritual suicide for Voldemort, Draco figured it had been an innocent.

He lingered after class, not really expecting Bill to stay for their after-school class session, but wondering if he should make sure the Professor was okay.

"Well, shut the door," said Bill irritably to him. "We do this every Thursday; surely you know the routine by now."

Draco shut the door, not bothered by the Professor's tone of voice. He'd seen Dark Rituals before and they weren't pretty, plus the Weasel and Weaselette were in the infirmary and while he never had a sibling injured before, he knew that losing one was painful, and no doubt Bill was worried. Besides, Narcissa was usually short-tempered with him and even Lucius, on occasion, could be extremely curt so it wasn't a new experience.

"You okay?" Draco asked hesitantly as Bill plopped the notes onto the table and tried to focus on the runes.

Bill inhaled deeply and let it out slowly, finally looking up at Draco.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's been a rough day."

"And night from the looks of it," said Draco, walking over to the board and erasing the code that Bill had accidentally left on the board. Bill groaned and put his head down on the table. Draco figured he probably shouldn't ask, but he was curious, especially when it came to things that he couldn't find in any book, so he asked.

"How did the Horcrux get rejoined to the Dark Lord?"

There was silence after he spoke, and Draco began regretting his words, but Bill looked up at him.

"You can figure it out," he said. "If he had to murder to tear his soul into pieces, what do you think happened?"

"Someone had to willingly die for him so that the part of his soul would reunite with him," said Draco.

Bill snorted. "Define 'willingly'," he said, a cynical note coming into his voice. "They had to do a ritual too, one that was full of chanting. I couldn't quite catch what they were saying though." Bill returned to the notes, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

Draco joined him at the table and began flipping through pages, glancing up at Bill every now and then, figuring that he should say something reassuring, but not knowing how as comfort wasn't really his forte, genius or not.

"How uh, how are they doing?" he asked awkwardly, and then wincing as Bill's eyes, which were staring vacantly at the wall, darkened. Wrong thing to say, he told himself silently.

"Ron's got burn salve all over him and a broken leg and Ginny may not regain full use of her left hand," said Bill, his tone dark and that was slightly frightening because Draco had never heard him talk so.

"I'm sorry," he said, even more awkwardly.

Bill's fist clenched. "Damned Death Eaters," he muttered, and although Draco couldn't quite catch the rest, it sounded like 'kill the sons-of-bitches'.

Draco didn't respond and the silence became strained. He was thankful when the express owl came, tapping at the window with its beak. He practically jumped from his chair and went to answer the window, glad of the excuse to do something. He took the letter and the owl flew off. Draco turned the envelope over, surprised to see the return address on the front and his father's name marked as the sender. Why on earth would his father, escaped convict and on the run from the Ministry, include a return address? The answer came to him like a cold draft sending dread up his spine.

"What is it?" asked Bill, no doubt concerned at the silence. "Is it from the surgeon?"

Bill obviously thought it was a letter bearing bad news from the operation the Weaselette was undergoing, so he spoke up.

"It's for me," he said. "It's from Lucius."

"What?" asked Bill, and Draco couldn't quite read his Professor's tone of voice.

Draco opened the letter and scanned it. "He's been pardoned," he said. "The Ministry has dropped charges and has allowed him to return home."

"What."

It wasn't a question this time and this time Draco could pick up on the emotion in Bill's voice. It was cold fury.

"He's been pardoned," said Draco again, his own voice shifting a degree cooler at Bill's tone.

"Unbelievable," said Bill, his expression one of disbelief and shock. "Absolutely unbelievable." His expression grew harder, angry. "Those _fools_ let the murdering bastard go! What else did he write?"

Draco's jaw tightened at that. "None of your damn business," he said with a spark of anger in his inflection. He sat back down, but Bill took the opportunity to snatch the letter from his hand.

"Give that back!" Draco demanded, jumping to his feet, but Bill was already scanning the contents, stopping as he reached the end of the letter. He stared up at Draco.

"'When you join me'?" he asked. "What does that mean 'when you join me'?" His voice was cold and disapproving and slightly incredulous. Draco bristled at that.

"It means that he wants me to be a Death Eater," he said obviously. "What do you think it means?"

He tried to reach over the table for it, but Bill stepped back.

"Well, what did you tell him?" he asked. "Are you going to go join Voldemort's little posse?"

"I don't know," said Draco. "Give me the letter."

"Don't know?" exclaimed Bill. "Do you want to be a murderer and a rapist and a torturer like Lucius?"

"Drop it, Bill," said Draco. Yes, he had memories of seeing his father murder, but he also had memories of Lucius holding him tightly as his body was racked with seizures as he went through withdrawal. Lucius was the only one, besides his brother, who had shown him kindness in his life and he didn't know how he could reconcile those contrasting views of his father; he doubted he ever would, and so he did everything possible not to think on it or mention it.

"No," said Bill. "You're supposed to be a genius. Shouldn't you know better than to believe in genocide?"

"Bill, stop," said Draco, his voice going frigid.

"I mean, what sort of father wants his son to be a Death Eater?" Bill asked, not heeding Draco's words. "What sort of father is a cold-blooded killer?"

Draco's self-restraint snapped. "Well at least my father can afford to feed his family," he spat. "And maybe it's a good thing if your brother and sister kick the bucket, because then at least the rest of you might have more to eat!" It was a low blow, he knew it, but he had never been one to pull his punches.

"You do not have the right to talk about them like that," said Bill hotly. "The only thing they are guilty of killing is spiders, can you say that about Lucius?"

"Shut up about him!" Draco shouted.

"Or what?" Bill asked. "Are you going to go blab about me to Voldemort?"

"Don't tempt me," said Draco, keeping his face completely composed so that Bill wouldn't read the lie in his eyes. There was no way he would ever turn him in.

"I'd like to see you try," said Bill, "because if I'm not mistaken, you're in Hogwarts, and Hogwarts is Dumbledore's territory."

"Like they can stop me?" asked Draco, scoffing at the notion.

"I think they could," said Bill. "Dumbledore's fought Voldemort before; I honestly doubt you could give him that much trouble."

"Yeah, but Potter's beat the Dark Lord as well, what does that say about him?"

"If he's so weak, why are you following him?"

"I'm not following him!"

"You don't know if you are," corrected Bill. "You're still deciding." His tone was mocking.

"Just because you decided to follow the old fool of a Headmaster in a snap, doesn't mean that others of us are stupid enough to do the same."

"The only stupid decision is to follow Voldemort," said Bill. "You know that!"

"Well maybe there are other factors to consider," said Draco, anger making his voice go harsher as he revealed his indecision, which wasn't something he did easily. "It's not just some cut and dried, black and white decision to be made, but you wouldn't know, would you? You've grown up your entire life believing one thing, well I haven't!"

"Oh, poor you," said Bill. "Getting everything you wanted in life but trying to pull the sympathy card. Get over yourself."

The words stung. Draco found that he was angrier at the fact that Bill's words actually hurt, than he was angry at the words themselves. He had trusted Bill not to bring up the subject of his father, he had trusted that Bill wouldn't press him to decide on the Voldemort issue, and he had trusted that Bill would never mock out his upbringing. He hated it when people tried to draw conclusions from his childhood.

If Draco had merely been angry at Bill, he would have internalized the emotion, bottling it up inside as he glared and stormed away, but he was also angry at himself, angry for feeling hurt at Bill's words, and so he struck back.

"Me?" asked Draco. "Look at you. This nice guy, befriending the enemy and all, but as soon as something bad happens you turn on everyone. Guess what Bill? I didn't do any of that so just shut the hell up and go cry over your sister."

Draco saw Bill flinch at the mentioning of his sister, and so went in for the kill, relishing in the fact that he could hurt his Professor like Bill had hurt him.

"Maybe if you were taking better care of her, she wouldn't be there right now, half-dead in the hospital. It was only dumb luck she isn't dead right now."

Bill visibly blanched and Draco was disgusted to find that he felt a prick of guilt at the teacher's reaction.

"Don't blame this on me," said Bill, recovering from the harsh words. "Blame it on your damn father and the rest of the mask-wearing bastards."

"Yes, the entire Death Eater regime was able to sneak past the wards and set the fire," said Draco sarcastically. "That's how it happened. You're a top notch spy, aren't you, Bill? It's no wonder your little siblings are in the hospital."

"If I were a top-notch spy I would have taken you straight to the Order and turned you over to Moody. I doubt you'd be as sarcastic with him."

Draco disregarded Bill's statement at first and opened his mouth to retort, but stopped when he caught sight of Bill's murderous glare. Bill was serious. The one person who knew his secret, the one person Draco actually allowed himself to trust did not only shout at him and insult him, but wanted to turn him in.

"You know," said Bill, pretending to be musing to himself. "That's not a half-bad idea. What do you say Draco? Shall we find out if you had anything to do with the fire on the field? Or maybe we can figure out a way to incriminate that 'father' of yours!"

Draco felt as if he had just taken a bludger to the gut and he actually took a step back. There was a horrible gasping feeling in his stomach and his mind seemed to be overwhelmed with a rush of disbelief, shock, and betrayal, but the next instant, he slammed the door shut, locking away the feelings and turning to Bill, his mind clear and his eyes completely frozen over.

"I'd like to see you try," he sneered. He grabbed his bag and stalked out of the room, breaking into a run as soon as he rounded the corner.

He pounded blindly down the halls, his breathing much more ragged than it should have been from a simple sprint. His mind was still spinning and he just made it to the dead tree by the lake before he collapsed on the cold ground.

He vaguely noted that although it was freezing outside, the snow had melted from a rainstorm earlier that week and now all that was left was a few random white piles by the lake or underneath the few pine trees. It looked like it was going to rain again, which was why there was no one else outside, and he gazed up at the grey clouds breathing in deep breaths through his nose and letting them slowly out through his mouth where his breath formed clouds of their own before dissipating in the sharp wind.

Once he felt his body calm, he replayed the scene from the Ancient Runes classroom in his head, remembering every word that was said and drawing one conclusion.

He was an idiot. A friggin', class A idiot. Rule number eleven in his code: Never get blindsided by kindness. Never. He had broken his own rule. The rule he had laid down to survive this god-forsaken mess of a war. The rule set up to protect him.

Hadn't he learned his lesson? Hadn't he seen what affection and trust could do to someone? Draco had seen the secret looks Lucius sent Narcissa's way when he thought he wasn't being watched, looks of longing, was that how Draco was going to turn out? Always searching for friendship and never finding it? He should have kept to his original plan: never having friends or people to care about so he wouldn't know what he was missing.

He pulled his knees up to his chin and encircled his legs with his arms, only allowing himself the comfort of that position because no one was there to see it. He had been stupid. He had allowed himself to open up and now he was paying the price, it was only fitting.

But why had he allowed himself to reveal so much? He had gone his entire Hogwarts career without needing anyone, so what had happened to him? Yes, he was confused and had no one to talk to about getting the Dark Mark, but that was no excuse because it had always been that way.

He knew why he had opened up. Bill reminded him of his brother. Not only that, but Bill had been different. He had looked past Draco's flaws and ignored the fact that his father was a Death Eater and that he was a Slytherin and the arch-nemesis of Potter, or he had until today that is, which just went to show that no one could really be that nice, that it is impossible for a Malfoy and a Weasley to get along, and that Draco had been right all along to distance himself from everyone. If they didn't die, they found another way to hurt you.

Draco sighed, feeling much more alone than he had ever felt in his life. Or maybe because he knew what companionship felt like, it was even harder to go back.

His throat felt funny suddenly, and it stung when he tried to swallow. His breathing came in gasps and his body shook, but his eyes remained dry. He rocked back and forth, trying to get rid of that tight feeling in the back of his throat, but it wouldn't go away. A raindrop splattered the ground, then another and another until a steady stream of water was falling from the sky, running down his face like the tears that he would never cry.

Rule number seventeen: Trust no one.

He stayed outside until his body had passed the stage of shivering and his limbs had gone numb. He stumbled to his dorm room, changing into dry clothes and crawling underneath his covers, but even then, he still felt cold.

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Bill did not feel guilty for making the kid run. He was generally a good-natured person, but no one touched his family, and no one said anything about Ginny in front of him. Ginny was his baby sister and after she had been born, Bill had been the one to care for her because Mrs. Weasley had been so ill and Mr. Weasley was swamped trying to care for his wife and work. Yes, Bill had practically raised his sister, and he was fiercely protective.

There was also the fact that he had just seen Lucius Malfoy kill a girl Ginny's age his son was wondering how the ritual was performed and talking about joining and degrading his family, so no, Bill didn't feel guilty when the kid had taken a step back as if Bill had just hit him, and he didn't feel guilty when the kid finally ran off.

He was angry. So angry that he didn't go up to visit Ginny after the surgery, but went straight to his room where he collapsed on the bed and, without meaning to, fell asleep, and this time he didn't dream.

He slept straight through dinner and the rest of the night as well, finally waking up when he felt a hand on his shoulder shake him gently.

"Bill?"

He froze; he knew that voice. He opened his eyes to see Fleur leaning over him with a welcoming smile but concern in her eyes.

"Fleur, what are you doing here?" he asked, sitting up and trying to bring his mind into focus.

"Well, then," said Fleur with a teasing smile, "I suppose I could just leave." She went to get up, but he reached out and stopped her.

"No," he said. "I'm glad you're here, just what, why are you here?"

"Your mother told me what happened," she said. "So I decided to come see how you were doing."

Bill grinned at her, and gave a gentle tug on her hand so that she smiled and snuggled up next to him on the bed.

"So, how are you?" she asked.

"I'm doing better now," he said, kissing the top of her head. "I think I was just overtired."

"Well you should be rested now," said Fleur. "It's almost noon."

"What?" Bill exclaimed, starting to jump up, but Fleur stopped him.

"Your class for today is cancelled," she said. "Dumbledore thought it would be best to give you a day off."

Bill relaxed back onto the bed. "I should get him a very large thank you card," he said.

"You should still get up though," said Fleur. "The surgeon's coming in to see how well the surgery went on Ginny's hand."

"Ginny!" Bill gasped. "I haven't seen her since yesterday morning. How is she? And how's Ron?"

Fleur laughed as she watched him scramble around trying to find clean clothes and running into the adjoining bathroom to change.

"Ron will be released tomorrow," she called through the shut door. "And he'll only have a slight scar on his arm. Ginny, besides the hand, is awake and lucid."

"Tomorrow?" Bill asked, coming out while still buttoning his scarlet shirt.

"Yes," said Fleur, smiling at him and then coming over to re-do his buttons as he had missed one, setting the whole shirt askew. "There."

"What would I do without you?" Bill asked.

"Besides walking around with your shirt half-buttoned?" asked Fleur. "Oh, I doubt anything too terrible. Let's go."

She grabbed his hand and they headed off for the infirmary.

The entire Weasley family was there, even Percy. Bill immediately sought out Charlie as the family huddled around the curtain that separated them from the surgeon and Ginny.

"What's going on?" he whispered.

"The Doc's checking her hand to see how it's healing from the surgery and then giving her strength tests to see how much function she has left," Charlie whispered back. "But we don't know anything yet."

Bill nodded and then looked around at the red-headed family who were all holding hands or conversing in whispers. There were a few exceptions on the hair color, as Fleur was blond, and Harry and Hermione, who were waiting anxiously as well, had darker hair.

The curtain was whisked open and then shut again though Bill got a glimpse of red-hair on the bed when the surgeon exited.

"Well," the doctor began, "I have some good news and some even better news. The surgery was a complete success and it turns out that her tendon was not severed as we thought but merely nicked. Right now the only loss of function in her hand is due to the fact that she was in surgery yesterday. She will make a complete and full recovery."

The infirmary burst into cheers and the surgeon allowed them to see Ginny, who although looked a little pale, was still grinning madly, especially when Harry approached her awkwardly and told her that he was extremely glad she was feeling better. Because two of their members were unable to leave the hospital wing, Ron was still confined to the bed as well, Fred and George went out and brought back a hamper full of food from the Three Broomsticks and they held an impromptu party.

The family had to leave later that afternoon, including Fleur, but Bill walked them all down to Hogsmeade and then he went back up to the castle for supper. It was there that he spotted a certain blond Slytherin.

He hadn't forgotten about Draco, the knowledge of their fight had always been on the back of his mind, but actually seeing him made him consciously remember the Ancient Runes session.

Bill watched Draco as he sat with the teachers at the Head Table. At first, he thought that Draco was completely unaffected by the row, he was eating and talking with his friends, but then Bill caught onto the inconsistencies. The food on Draco's plate never made it to his mouth, though he was doing an excellent job of rearranging it, and although he was conversing with a few other Slytherins, his lips were locked into their sneer.

Bill felt the smallest twinges of guilt, but he brushed it off. Right then he couldn't deal with Draco on top of everything else that was going on.

Saturday, however, he came face to face with the Slytherin. He had gone down to the infirmary to see Ron released, but Pomfrey had let him out early so Bill visited with Ginny for a while. He was heading towards the library to see if the collection had Smith's works on the Roman dialect so he wouldn't have to order it when he heard his brother's voice.

"Well, you look like a drowned ferret, Malfoy. What happened? Decided to take a jump in the lake?"

Bill remembered what had happened last time Ron and Draco had a confrontation, and there was no way he was letting Ron get hurt again, and so he hurriedly rounded the corner, ducking behind a pillar to see Ron, Harry, and Hermione in the hall with Draco glaring coldly at the lot of them, though the fear that Draco usually inspired was somewhat dampened from the fact that he was soaking wet and forming quite a large puddle on the floor. It _was_ raining rather heavily outside. He had obviously just come in from training Orion because his riding gloves were in his hands, though his school robes were on and clinging to his thin frame. That was not what made Bill concerned.

Draco looked pale, paler than normal that is, and there were circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept well the past few nights, and seeing as he was an insomniac, that probably meant he hadn't slept at all. His eyes were completely clouded over and icy with no trace of emotion whatsoever. It was frightening.

"Well, if it isn't Weasel," Draco said softly, his smirk changing into a menacing leer. Bill pulled out his wand, ready to step in if need be, though why he was hiding in the first place wasn't quite clear to him.

"I hear you have a scar now," Draco continued. "Congratulations, you have always wanted to be just like Potter, haven't you?"

"You're the one that's jealous of him!" Ron shot back.

"Jealous?" Draco scoffed lightly, his eyes glinting in a way that reminded Bill of Voldemort, which meant that whatever Draco was going to say would be more than cruel.

"Yes, jealous," said Hermione, jumping in as well to get back at the boy who insulted her for so long. "He's better than you in Quidditch, he's more powerful than you'll ever be, and people like him. Admit it Malfoy, you're nothing more than a spoiled, arrogant snot who's mad with jealousy!"

"Please," said Draco, disdain dripping from every word. "Who would be jealous of the boy who sent his own godfather to his death?"

Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket with a speed that impressed Bill; Draco didn't even flinch.

"Take it back, Malfoy!" Harry shouted, his wand pointed unwaveringly at the Slytherin.

"Why?" asked Draco. "Does the truth really hurt? Funny, I thought it was just a saying."

"Go to hell, Malfoy!" Harry snapped.

"Completely unoriginal, Potter," said Draco, shaking his head as if disappointed. "But then again, so is the story of your life, constantly surviving through one impossible situation after another, it's getting quite predictable. How about you break the trend, do us all a favor, and die in the next one."

He brushed past them, but stopped when Harry spoke up.

"It's about as unoriginal as your father escaping Azkaban. Why don't you do _us_ a favor and have him kissed already?"

Draco's eyes flickered once and his hand slipped inside his pocket, no doubt grasping his wand but he did not draw it.

"Wasn't your godfather going to be kissed, Potter? Perhaps you killed him out of mercy, awfully nice of you, Potter."

Harry shouted out a spell, but he wasn't the only one. Ron as well called out a hex and Bill watched as the flashes of light streak towards Draco. The blond whirled around, his wand drawn. Bill noticed two flicks of the wand, one following right after the other in an incredible display of speed and deadly precision. The two flicks meant two spells though the Slytherin did not speak. The hexes sent at him dissipated in a rush of noise and, almost simultaneously, the three Gryffindors were picked up and thrown backwards by a shockwave of wind.

"What is the meaning of this!" demanded a sharp voice. "Mr. Malfoy put your wand away this instant and explain yourself!"

McGonagall came into view, pounding down the hall with the most terribly stern expression on her face.

"I was walking away," said Draco, anger and malice giving his words a strained feel. "Potter and Weasley drew on me and I protected myself."

He glared at the three Gryffindors who were getting up with outraged expressions on their faces then turned back to McGonagall.

"If you need proof, ask Professor Weasley behind the pillar. He's been there the entire time."

With that Draco strode down the hall, passing Bill. Bill made sure to stare at him as the kid passed, knowing that Draco wouldn't be able to prevent himself from risking a glance in his direction, so when Draco finally looked his way, he was forced to look him in the eye.

The grey eyes were clouded over in anger, and Bill had no doubt that if looks could kill, he would be dead that instant. Draco averted his gaze, and Bill watched as Draco swallowed, his jaw clenching while his body was super-tensed, causing his hand to tremble as his fingers attempted to tap out their usual pattern. Bill stared after him after the boy had rounded the corner. For a moment there, those eyes had reflected pain. It had been more than pain though; there was betrayal, hurt, and Bill knew from the blundered 1-3-2-4 pattern, there was also a large dose of loathing, though from the look in Draco's eyes, it was mostly self-directed.

He stepped out to join McGonagall as she took points from Gryffindor and sent the Golden Trio on their way. She turned to Bill, who decided to explain his actions before she had a chance to ask.

"I was seeing if they would get into a fight or if they could just walk away," he said, lamely. "And then when it did, it happened too fast to prevent it."

She nodded. "Let's alert the other teachers," she said, heading off in the direction of the teacher's lounge.

"Alert them of what?" asked Bill, following her curiously.

"Every so often Draco Malfoy gets in a rage. Something sets him off and for a few days he is completely unbearable with the insults and the rebellion and he gets into fights all he time. He's uncontrollable so the staff has just learned not to deal with him during his bouts of temper."

They reached the lounge doors and McGonagall pushed them open to announce to the gathered teachers, "The dragon is raging."

She was met with a chorus of groans and a few expletives.

"What set him off?" asked Sprout. "We've been tantrum free for over half a year. I was almost hoping that he outgrew it."

"No such luck," said McGonagall. "He was practically spitting sparks at Harry right now. You'll want to steer clear of him definitely."

"How often does he have a tantrum?" asked Bill.

"At first, four maybe five times a year," said McGonagall, "but they've been coming on more and more often. Last year we had seven or eight I think."

"Nine," said Sprout. "He managed to get my greenhouse trashed though it was a localized incident."

"Prepare yourselves for a bad one then," said Flitwick. "Because he's been so mild these past few months, we're in for a rather large storm."

"He has been almost bearable," said Sprout. "I wonder if the fact that his father was in Azkaban might have put him on more cautious footing, but now that Lucius was released, maybe he's making up for missed time."

Bill felt guilt wrap around his chest and he excused himself and walked quickly to his room, sinking into his armchair by the fire. He had set Draco off like that; _he_ was the cause for Draco's sudden reversal.

Bill had grown fond of the blond Slytherin. Yes, the kid was arrogant and prejudiced and cruel when he wanted to be, but considering what the kid had grown up with and who his parents were, it was a miracle he hadn't turned out worse. Draco could have become the next Dark Lord, instead he had been helping Bill with a series of runes that may or may not be translatable.

Bill could not say that he loved Draco as a brother, the kid was too cruel on occasion, too calculating and too…cold, but he still felt affection for the boy. Draco was sharp, intelligent. He noticed things most people missed which gave him an interesting outlook. He could also be quite the wit when he loosened up enough for his sarcastic comments to slip out although he was usually quite reserved. Bill remembered the first time he had gotten Draco to smile. He had felt as if he had just won the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and then he had gone and verbally attacked the kid.

Bill winced when he remembered how Draco had looked when he had suggested turning him in. The grey eyes had widened fractionally and he had taken a step back like he had just been slapped. Draco had scanned his face, his cloudy eyes clearing in shock, confusion, and fear for an instant before the storm had returned to hide the emotions and then turning icy. He had run, too. Draco had waited until he was away from the door to actually run from him, but he had heard the pounding footsteps in a dead-out sprint.

Bill was an open person. That was usually a good thing, but it meant that when he was angry and when every little action or word turned into a mountain, like it did when he was upset, he often made horrible accusations and jumped to conclusions he wouldn't even think of when he was calm. He often said the worst things possible to say, which was perfectly apparent in his row with Draco.

He had known that Draco's relationship with his father wasn't the best. He knew that while Draco didn't necessarily like his father, deep down there was something that tied him to Lucius, something that might actually cause love for his father. Bill should never have brought the subject of Lucius up. Draco tensed every time his father's name was mentioned and Bill had told Draco that if he was uncomfortable with a subject Bill was talking about, Bill would drop it if Draco told him to. Well, Draco had told him to shut up, and what did he do? Continued pressing the subject and then threatened to reveal his secret to the Order.

Bill had most likely destroyed any of the trust Draco might have held towards him. He may have even swayed the kid closer to siding with Voldemort, and that would be hell for the Order, but he was more worried at the thought of Draco joining Voldemort, than he was worried about the repercussions of having a genius on the opposing side. Yes, he was fond of the kid and he had to apologize. The only question was: would Draco even listen to him?

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Soooo, that's sort of a cliff-hanger ending. Well, not a real cliff-hanger, else I would have ended it with the fight, but still, that's sorta mean of me for stopping it there. Huh. Well, if you want to know what happens, you'll just have to review! (Muwhahaha!)


	21. Rule 18: Learn the first time

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own the horde of angry reviewers for taking so long to update. I'm sorry and I will try my darndest to never again have it that long of a wait.

QuinkyDink: not too long, not too short for the argument. Crap. Well, I hope it holds up to your expectations, thanks for reviewing!  
Meirta: Thank you very much for reviewing, and I'm glad that you think Draco is pretty much true to the books, just with his intelligence, I was trying to make it as if he really could be a genius underneath it all  
Chicklepea: I love chocolate chip cookies, and yeah, that was a rather long update wait, sorry. Do I still get the cookies?  
Gremlin: I'm glad that you can sympathize with both, and yeah, I hope it isn't ruined as well  
Dbi626: Sorry about the long wait, but thanks for reviewing. It is refreshing to have someone trying to get Draco to trust them (not visa-versa), isn't it? I never thought of it that way before.  
Wildlyobssesed: Sorry about the wait but thanks for reviewing, and yes, it will take awhile for Draco to trust again  
Rachel: I'm sorry! Yeah, definitely took a while on the updates, but that shouldn't happen again, promise.

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Chapter 21

_Rule number eighteen: Learn the first time. Never make the same mistake twice._

First years learned a lot when they arrived at Hogwarts, usually things important to getting to class on time or getting into their common rooms. They learned one thing necessary for their survival. They were told this in hushed tones, usually at the first breakfast. They would be sitting down to eat, bubbling with excitement about their first classes, and then Draco Malfoy would walk in. His stance, his gracefulness, and his cold, hard stare would command their attention and the older students would lean in to the younger children and tell them this: That's Draco Malfoy. When Draco Malfoy gets angry, and you will _know_ when he gets angry, you do not talk to him. You do not walk by him. If you want to live, you will run the other direction when you see him.

Yes, Hogwarts was used to the moods of the Prince of Slytherin. When Friday came and Draco got into a fight, students were a little cautious. When Saturday came and he had full blown attacked the Golden Trio, warnings were whispered all over the school and students were sure to keep as far away from him as possible. Even the teachers stepped carefully around him, knowing not to cross him when he was angry. They didn't call on him; he didn't cause mass destruction. It was a beautiful relationship.

It wasn't that Draco would openly defy or rebel against the teachers, but he was not ruler of Slytherin for nothing. With a well-placed comment, Draco could upset an entire class. With a deliberate, though rather harmless prank, Draco could cause war. With an 'accident' in Potions or Transfiguration, he could ensure the hospitalization of at least a third of the class, and maybe the teacher as well through retaliatory action.

He had done it before. In third year. That was the year he had started having his 'moods'. The first episode was caused when he found out that his father was going to have Buckbeak executed. However, it was no fault of the animal as Draco had deliberately provoked the hippogriff to get out of facing the boggart. He had felt guilty and because he had no one to confide in, he bottled the feeling of self-loathing and hopelessness.

To make matters worse, the summer before had been the summer when Narcissa had gotten him hooked on her drugs. He began craving the potions after the Buckbeak incident to the point where sometimes he had to hide in the bathroom because he was trembling so hard he was unable to hold a quill. He became withdrawn and sullen, unable to deal with the stress and wanting the release of the potions, until one day in Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs, he snapped.

Draco smirked as he remembered what he had done. Instead of aiming his spell at the quill he was supposed to be turning into a porcupine, he made the spell go awry, hitting a Hufflepuff boy who often made comments about Draco's father. It looked like an accident, but Draco made sure to smirk meaningfully at the remaining Hufflepuffs behind McGonagall's back. The room had erupted into full out hex wars, and as the Slytherins were much better prepared and much better tactically speaking, the Hufflepuffs had been decimated and McGonagall had a deformed teacup for a head.

The entire class had a week's worth of detention, but it was worth it, and everyone knew that Draco Malfoy had caused it because for a week he had been silent and angry, but afterwards he had come out smirking wickedly.

He had other 'moods' that year, and the years after, though they were no longer spurred by drug cravings, just emotions that he didn't know how to handle. As he grew older the moods became more frequent and increased in length and intensity, but sixth year had been calm, too calm, and so when Draco was seen hexing the Golden Trio, the news had reached most of the student population by the time Draco made it to his dorm to change his wet clothes. Unfortunately for Theodore Nott, he was not one of those lucky people who had been informed.

Draco had just stormed into the Slytherin common room to get to his dorm when Nott spoke up. The other sixth year was sitting on one of the black couches with a fairly large amount of people surrounding him.

"Well, doesn't Malfoy look particularly like a drowned ferret today?"

Draco stopped and there was laughter all about the common room. That laughter was a warning sign for him; they never had the courage to laugh at him before.

"Anyway," continued Nott. He had obviously been in the middle of telling a story before Draco came in. "Potter and his gang not only managed to escape but Lucius Malfoy gets captured by Aurors, which was why he was in Azkaban, which was why he escaped, which is why it's such big news now that he was pardoned. Isn't that right, Malfoy?"

Draco could feel pure rage rising up inside of his chest as Nott laughed about his father to the other Slytherins. He scanned the crowd, noticing that none of the students had fear in their eyes when he approached; they had no reason to fear because he hadn't done anything to keep them in awe of him. He had lost control of his kingdom. He had gone soft and this was the consequence.

"He's a little embarrassed," Nott said in a stage whisper. "I mean, wouldn't you be too? After all he's gone on and on about his father and how he is so great, and then his father goes and gets captured by Potter."

"If you're going to say something, Nott, say it to my face," said Draco coldly.

"What is there to say?" asked Nott. He got up and began walking towards Draco. "You're a coward, Draco. You talk about blood purity and serving the Dark Lord, but you're not doing anything to help our cause. You sit in on the mudblood debates, you have detention with the half-breed and tutoring with Weasley. I'm beginning to wonder if they might be influencing you against our lord."

Draco's eyes went frigid, his voice freezing cold. "I would watch my words if I were you, Nott."

"Oh, what are you going to do about it?" asked Nott. "Glare at me? Let's face it, Malfoy, you've been doing absolutely nothing. Well, I say it's high time someone stepped up who had the courage to serve our lord."

"And that someone is you?" Draco asked, condescension staining his voice. He laughed and turned away, heading towards his dorm, ignoring Nott as he bristled at the dismissal.

"Yes, it is," Nott called after him. "You're not worth the signum on your back!"

Draco froze as the room fell deadly silent. Many wizards had died in duels as a direct result from those words.

"You will not dare to speak to me that way again," said Draco, his voice smooth, collected, and deceptively calm. "Is that understood, Nott?"

Nott was silent; Draco knew why. If Nott said 'yes' and obeyed, then he was relinquishing control back to Draco when Nott wanted to be Prince, but to get the title, he would have to face Draco.

"Well, Nott?" asked Draco, his voice harder and his hand slipping inside of his robes for his wand.

"I said what is true," said Nott. "I will not recant."

"Good," said Draco simply. He whirled around, but Nott was already firing a hex at him. He deflected it, easily, but then Heckert and Carangi got up as well, placing themselves behind Nott. Draco realized what this was then, it was an ambush. Nott was obviously going all out for Draco's position. Well, he had seriously misjudged Draco. He was more than just an arrogant, spoiled teenager; he was a genius and an expert dueler, and he had just gone into a rage.

The other occupants of the room fled to safety behind couches or chairs as the four combatants went at it. Draco threw up a shield charm as all three threw spells at him almost simultaneously. Before they had a chance to throw their next, he dropped the shield charm, and shot a curse at Heckert. The seventh year dropped as the curse had burst his eardrums and thrown his inner ear out of whack, disrupting his balance.

Draco ducked as Nott and Carangi retaliated with a barrage of jinxes. They were fools, wasting their energy in one splurge like that. He took cover behind an armchair as the curses reflected off of the stone walls and shattered the lamps and décor around the room. Draco cast a decoy spell that caused a shadow-like figure to burst from the end of his wand. With their fire drawn to the shadow, Draco stood and stunned Carangi. He advanced on Nott as the sixth year hurled any spell he could think of in Draco's direction.

Draco smiled as he dueled. Nott was a good fighter, but he had spent himself too early on in the fight, and he called out his hexes, making them all too easy to block. Draco was also a Legilimens, which allowed him to see what Nott was planning and counter every move. He was also faster, and had greater endurance, and he was immensely grateful to his father for constantly drilling him on spells and having mock-duels almost everyday when he was younger.

Nott was growing frustrated, and Draco was quite blatantly toying with him, making sure that the audience was quite aware of who was the victor in this. Nott finally collapsed by a table, still throwing a hex now and then, which Draco batted away. Draco walked almost nonchalantly forward, getting close enough to merely snatch away Nott's wand. He reached down and grasped Nott's shirt, pulling him up to his feet and then throwing him in the middle of the room. Nott didn't have the strength to protest and merely lay on the floor, cringing every time Draco looked his way.

"Beg me, Nott," he said cruelly. "Beg me to spare you."

Nott whimpered, but his mouth was shut and he shook his head. Draco walked over, kicked him onto his back, and pressed his foot on Nott's neck with just enough pressure to make it uncomfortable. He sneered at his tormentor under his foot, writhing like a bug. All it would take was one step…

"You have insulted me, Nott," he said. "You question my authority, and my loyalty, and then you said that I was unworthy of my mark. Now beg me to spare you or I swear I will make you an example for every Slytherin, no, for every student who resides in Hogwarts who so foolishly turns against me." His voice was unfeeling and his eyes like ice. He pressed down on Nott's neck just enough to make the act of breathing labored.

"I'm sorry!" Nott gasped, panic in his eyes. "I'm sorry. Don't hurt me."

Draco nodded, and released the boy, but not before casting one more hex, one bordering on Dark Magic, _lingua hirundo_. Nott blanched, gasping at his throat, muted grunts coming out of his mouth, turning more panicked as he realized what had happened. Draco smiled at him coldly; he had just caused Nott to swallow his tongue.

"Get out, ¨ he ordered.

Nott didn't move, too busy gagging.

"Out!" Draco practically screamed at him. He whirled on the other occupants as well. "All of you out! Take the three lugs to Pomfrey, tell her they fought each other, and get the hell out of my sight!"

They hurried to comply. Yes, they had followed Nott when he seemed so sure he could overthrow Draco, but they were not fools. Draco had proven his power and they would obey.

Draco waited until they were all gone and then he stormed into his dorm, finally pulling off his wet clothes. His reflection in the floor length mirror caught his attention and he walked over slowly, then turned around, craning his neck to see the scarlet tattoo that swept across his upper back. It was more than a tattoo, it was his signum, the Malfoy seal, the sign that he was the heir.

It was an ancient ritual that many pure wizards (mostly dark ones) still followed, marking their heirs shortly after birth to show their rank. It wasn't just blood-ink, it was a connection to the land, a connection to family. The signum had a life of its own as the snake coiled and uncoiled around the glinting sword and the two rowan trees framing the serpent swayed in a non-exisent wind, and although it was not a physical feeling, Draco could sense the motion. It was soothing, comforting.

He sighed and turned forward, staring when he caught sight of the necklace around his throat. It was the one Bill gave to him; the one he hadn't taken off since the moment he received it. In a fit of rage he tore it off and sent it hurtling into the corner. He then grabbed a change of clothes and stormed into the shower.

He came out thirty minutes later, clean, dry, and dressed in his usual black, and went straight to the discarded necklace in the corner and slipped it back over his head. It was a conscious decision to put it back on, but he did not want to know the reason for his action and so he pushed all thoughts of the Professor out of his head and went to the library to lose himself in the books.

Even though the school was used to his moods, even they were unprepared for the level of cruelty that came from the Ice Prince for at the library he sent two students away in tears and managed to get a library shelf knocked over, though he was only indirectly linked to the incident so that Madame Pince couldn't do anything except send him from the library.

So Draco left, striding through the halls as the younger students fled at the sight of him. At dinner he caused a brawl and left before he was reprimanded, subsequently leaving before he ate as well, but not before Bill caught sight of him and began to follow. Draco went straight to the Slytherin Common room where Bill couldn't enter. No doubt Bill was going to apologize. Draco didn't want to hear it. He had been fooled once and there was no way he was making the same mistake twice. He didn't need anyone, especially not a Weasley.

By Monday, he was still in a rage. He would be fine if Bill would just leave him the hell alone! The professor had tried to approach him again before breakfast but he had left the Great Hall immediately. Just looking at the Professor reminded him what a fool he had been, and his insides would all clench up at the memory of the pain he had felt, the pain he was still feeling, but at the same time he would feel lonely and empty inside and he wanted nothing more that to….

'Then to what?' he asked himself harshly. 'Run and give the Professor a hug like a sodding Gryffindor? Like a bloody first year?'

He snarled at the nearest passing student, which happened to be a first year, and then carried on storming to class. He didn't need to be all chummy with Bill; he was fine the way he was. Being friends with someone meant that one of the two was going to end up with a knife in his back, and Draco was never going to take that chance again.

Rule number eighteen: Learn the first time. Never make the same mistake twice.

By that afternoon, Draco had a headache. No, not a headache, a migraine. Migraines can be triggered by several different things, in Draco's case it was usually caused by stress, lack of sleep, and skipping too many meals, so that this migraine was one of the worse ones. He ran out of his last class as soon as possible and headed straight for his room where he drew his bed hangings and buried his head under his pillow and didn't get up until dinner.

When he finally did manage to drag himself to the Great Hall, Bill was waiting outside the doors. The Professor caught sight of him and Draco turned on his heel and headed straight back to his dorm.

"Draco, wait!" Bill called after him.

Draco ran.

The next morning he woke up with his migraine still pounding away. To make matters worse, it was Tuesday so he had Ancient Runes. The classes before Bill's had gone well enough. A few of the teachers (mainly McGonagall) had given him odd looks but he had simply glared and they had looked away.

He grudgingly entered the Ancient Runes classroom in the afternoon, not meeting Bill's gaze, and slumping into his seat next to Hermione who was smart enough to stay as quiet as possible.

"Today we will be continuing the Romanian dialect," said Bill. "If everyone could please turn to page 127, we will get started."

Normally when Draco was angry, he wouldn't even bother getting out his book, but this was Bill's class and there was no way Draco was going to give the Professor an excuse to keep him after class, so he took out his book and he turned to page 127. He even took notes and when Bill asked him a question, causing every head to turn in his direction to see what havoc he was going to cause, he calmly answered the question to the astonishments of the gathered students.

Bill, however, was a stubborn Gryffindor, and he obviously wanted to talk to Draco and there was no way he was going to be deterred. When the bell rang to signal the end of class, he called them up to receive their quizzes and then they were dismissed. Draco had a feeling his name was going to be called last. Sure enough, there was one parchment in Bill's hand when the classroom completely emptied of anyone else, and Draco's name hadn't been called.

Draco could feel his migraine spiking and it was all he could do not to reach up and rub his temples. He stared stonily at his desk, not looking up at the teacher. He could hear Bill walking forward and could see out of his peripheral vision Bill pulling out the chair in front of him and straddling it. It was the familiarity of that action that nearly undid his resolve to stay away, but all it took was a replay of their argument to make him as angry as ever. He had trusted Bill once, and it had been a mistake. He doubted he could survive a similar betrayal.

"Draco," he started but Draco cut him off.

"If it has nothing to do with my quiz, I don't want to hear it," he said harshly.

"Draco, don't do this," said Bill.

"Don't do what?" spat Draco, looking up and glaring at the teacher.

"Don't push me away like this, just listen to me." Bill's eyes were pleading and remorseful, but Draco was passed the point of caring.

"I've done enough listening," he said, scraping his chair back and getting to his feet. "Are you going to give me my quiz or what?"

"Could you just hear me out this once?" asked Bill. "Please, Draco. Let me apologize."

"I don't give a shit about your apology," said Draco. "Give me my quiz or I'm walking out the door right now."

"Draco, I'm sorry," Bill started. Draco didn't let him finish. He grabbed his bag and stormed out of the room, ignoring Bill's calls behind him.

Wednesday he woke up with a headache and a slightly scratchy throat, which made him angry because he hardly ever got sick. He skipped breakfast altogether, not even wanting to run into Bill again. It was a morning of complete avoidance.

This whole 'apology' thing was the worst idea he had ever heard of. It allowed one person to say what ever the hell he felt like saying and then giving a quick 'I'm sorry' and it was supposed to all be forgiven and forgotten. Well Draco was not about to be blindsided by some poor Weasley. No, he was much more for the 'on your own' way of life, that way if there was a mistake, he only had himself to blame.

Classes were nearly unbearable and he skipped his afternoon class altogether in favor of a nap, which was surprising because he was an insomniac, but he was tired.

He slept well too, for two hours straight, and the only thing that disturbed his sleep was an odd dream of drowning in an ocean while the entire school played on the beach. He woke up, gasping for breath and shaking slightly, and then went back to sleep for another hour that was completely dreamless.

Thursday he woke up with the knowledge that he was sick. He had a headache still and his scratchy throat had turned sore. He was also feeling slightly nauseas, but he didn't have a fever and so going to Pomfrey would do no good. She was one of those nurses who believed that if you didn't have a fever there was nothing the matter with you. So Draco got up and got ready for classes.

He skipped breakfast again although this time he was avoiding the smell and sight of food and not just the red-haired Professor. He couldn't honestly say what the teacher talked about in his morning class of Arithmancy and by Transfiguration, he was shivering slightly. His throat felt like it was burning, his head was pounding in time to his heart, and his entire body ached. He was sure to be especially cruel so that he wouldn't have to deal with anyone approaching him.

McGonagall, it seemed, was also in a foul mood and was obviously sick of letting the temper tantrums of a sixteen year old boy rule her classroom, and so she called on him halfway through the class. Draco didn't even realize that she had called on him until she spoke again.

"Mr. Malfoy!" she said in her sharp voice which made his headache flare. "Can you answer me the question?"

Draco winced. "Must you talk so loud?" he asked, only half-conscious to what he was saying. The class tittered; McGonagall frowned.

"Five points from Slytherin," said McGonagall, though it sounded more like shrieking to Draco. "As an instructor here, Mr. Malfoy, I expect your respect. Now can you answer the question?"

"Could you repeat it?" asked Draco wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose as his vision swam in front of him and his head felt oddly heavy. The world faded out for a minute and he pushed himself back to reality to hear the end of McGonagall's rant.

"-won't pay attention, you can just leave, Mr. Malfoy."

"Brilliant," he said, grabbing his bag and pushing himself up from his desk. He headed for the door, making it about five steps before his legs buckled, sending him crashing to the floor. The class laughed, thinking he had tripped, but then the laughter died out when he did nothing to move from his face-down position. He couldn't do anything to rise; he lacked the strength to even turn over.

As it turned out, he didn't have too. McGonagall knelt by his side, gently rolling him onto his back and bending over him.

"Mr. Malfoy, can you hear me?" she asked and, strangely, her voice wasn't as loud as it was before. His eyes slowly slipped shut and he drifted off.

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Bill sat at his desk, waiting for his students to come in for their Ancient Runes class. It was Thursday, meaning that Draco would be in his class today as well, but he doubted that the blond Slytherin would stay for their 'tutoring' session.

Bill sighed and put his feet up on his desk. He honestly had been trying to apologize to the kid, but Draco had run every time. He couldn't really blame him.

Draco had trust issues. Bill knew that from watching the kid, and also talking to him. It wasn't really surprising as his mother was constantly cheating on his father, or maybe there was something else to it, either way, Bill had messed up.

Messed up badly too. Draco had looked sick on Tuesday although Bill figured he was one of the few who noticed, because Draco's appearance was as composed as usual. Bill, however, was used to Draco's façade and looked for the tiny details. The face that was a shade whiter, the brief periods when Draco would close his eyes when the class got noisy as if in pain, and the fingers that didn't tap out the pattern.

The door opened and Bill made no move to remove his feet from his desk as the students came in. They were used to his completely un-teacher like behavior by now. The students were all talking rather intensely about something and Bill knew enough of his students' schedules to realize that it was the students in NEWT Transfiguration that were doing most of the talking while the others were listening. They gradually calmed down as they took their seats, but one remained emptied.

"Does anyone know where Draco is?" asked Bill, sitting up and starting to get out the worksheets from a drawer in the desk.

The class immediately burst into an explanation and Bill held up a hand to make them stop.

"One at a time, please," he said. "Hermione, where's your partner?"

"He passed out," said Hermione. "In Transfiguration."

Bill felt his heart give a lurch. "Passed out?" he asked.

"Yes," said Hermione. "He was rather rude to Professor McGonagall and she said that if he wasn't going to pay attention he could just leave. So he got up to leave, but he just collapsed. McGonagall didn't want to move him without knowing what was wrong with him, so we had to wait for Pomfrey to come down. She said that he was sick with the flu and that he collapsed because he was partially delirious because his fever was so high."

"Delirious?" asked Bill.

"Yes," piped up one of the Ravenclaws. "They think that's why he's been so…you know, lately."

"Well, that would explain it," said Bill, shifting the topic. He put away his concern for the blond Slytherin for the moment. He would have liked to run up to the infirmary at that very moment, but there were still reputations to be upheld.

After class, which seemed to drag on, he went straight up to the infirmary. Pomfrey came over with a questioning look on her face.

"Didn't think I'd see you here," she said. "Ginny's been released for three days now."

"I know," said Bill. "I came to check on Draco. I've been tutoring him after class these days and since I hear that he passed out, I decided I'd swing by and see how he was doing."

Pomfrey nodded in understanding. "He'll be fine," she said. "Just a bad case of the flu."

"But the flu passed a week ago," said Bill.

"There's always at least one delayed case in every epidemic," said Pomfrey. "And it's usually a rather severe case because their own immune system has been fighting it off for so long, so that when they finally get the ill, it's a resilient strain of the disease, plus their body is spent fighting it off. He's in the bed at the end of the row if you want to check on him, though he'll probably be sleeping for a few days. I'm giving him Sleeping Potion to make sure he rests."

"Thanks," said Bill.

Pomfrey nodded and moved off and Bill stared down the row of beds, finally walking slowly towards the Slytherin's bed.

He came to a halt at the foot of the bed and looked down at the occupant. Draco was sprawled half-on, half-off the bed and the sheets were twisted around his legs as if he had tried to kick them off and he was drenched in sweat. His cheeks were flushed, though the rest of his face was pale, almost matching the infamous white infirmary pajamas that were so different then the customary black Draco usually wore.

Even in sleep the kid seemed to be thinking. His eyebrows were furrowed and his jaw locked and Bill wouldn't be surprised if he began to grind his teeth. He took a seat in the chair beside the bed, just watching the boy for a while, lost in thought.

He resisted the urge to chuckle at the irony of it all. Here he was, a Weasley, sitting at the bedside of Lucius Malfoy's son, much like he had done for his brother. When Bill had been told that Ron and Ginny had been injured in the fire on the field, he had been filled with fear and panic, and when Hermione had told him that Draco had passed out, his heart had given a similar lurch. He wondered if maybe perhaps he did think of Draco as a brother.

He gazed at Draco; the kid was so much easier to care for when he was sleeping. No rude remarks or hard glares.

Draco shifted, almost completely off the bed at this point, and Bill caught a glimpse of black around the kid's throat. It was the necklace Bill had given him for Christmas. He was surprised to see that Draco still had it on, but he took comfort in that fact. Perhaps Draco would listen to him eventually.

He got up and stepped closer to the limp form, picking the boy up, who was quite slight for his age and stature, and gently moved him back to the middle of the bed. Draco muttered something in French that he couldn't quite make out and then rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. Bill smiled at that, and then untangled the blankets and pulled them over Draco, who again, even in his potion-induced slumber, shifted at the soft touch. He must be an impossibly light sleeper.

"I swear, kid," said Bill, looking down at Draco and smiling again. "You are going to listen to my apology if I have to tie you down and feed you extra-strong Compulsion Potion."

Draco didn't respond to his threats, lost in slumber. Bill left the infirmary and headed down to his room.

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Hi. Sorry about the long update. I promise, the next one will be up in a few days after this one. So, if that makes you happy, review!


	22. Rule 19: Sometimes

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own a microwave and a mug and a packet of hot chocolate (yummy).

Lisa: Thank you very much for reviewing, I'm glad that you are enjoying my story so much and the characterization of Draco and Bill. Thanks again.  
Dbi626: I'm glad you liked the duel. I was definitely trying to show that Draco is more than an arrogant snob, thanks for reviewing.  
Mask: lol, amazing. Love you chica.  
Lyn: Thanks so much for your reviews, I really appreciate it, and nice catch on the reign/rein thing.  
Chicklepea: I have to wait as long as you waited? That's brilliant! The whole notion of that is amazing. Thanks for the review, and logging in is over rated.  
Me: Awww, I made you cry? Sorry. Well, sort of, I'm kinda proud of myself for that as well. Thanks for the review!  
Gremlin: Yes, it is safe to say that they are both stubborn, though Bill is stubborn because he's a Gryffindor, and Draco is just to aggravate other people most of the time. Thanks for the review!  
Rachel: I upheld my promise. Thanks for the review too, very flattering, made me smile

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Chapter 22

_Rule number nineteen: Sometimes friendships are a good thing_.

Draco sighed as he stared up at the infirmary ceiling. He was going to go insane with boredom, he just knew it. It was even worse than being stuck in the FPR meetings Wednesday nights because at least then he could doodle on paper, or at least sneak-read interesting books. Here, he was stuck with nothing.

It was Saturday night, well not exactly night, just eight o'clock, but because it was early spring, it was still dark outside, and Pomfrey had already turned in. His fever had broken that morning, which meant that for the first time since he collapsed in the Transfiguration classroom he was aware of his surroundings, or at least as aware as one can be in a dark hospital wing lit only by the moon shining through the window.

He sighed again, and shifted slightly, then froze when the infirmary doors swung silently open. A figure entered holding a wand that was lit by a 'lumos' spell and Draco squinted, wondering who it was. He mentally swore when recognition hit.

The figure walked over to his bedside and sat down in the chair beside the bed.

"Draco," Bill started.

Draco rolled over onto his stomach and turned his head away from the teacher. Bill picked up the chair, carried it over to the other side, and sat. Draco turned his head again. Bill picked up the chair and moved back.

"I can keep doing this all night," said Bill. "And I figure you're going to get tired first."

He was right, Draco knew. His fever had broken, yes, but that didn't mean he was completely recovered. He rolled over onto his back and glared at Bill, hoping that the Professor would get the hint and get this over with.

"You look like shit," said Bill, studying his face.

Draco didn't answer. He may have to listen to whatever it was Bill was going to say, but there was no way he was participating.

"I missed you in class on Thursday," said Bill. "Rather boring working on the runes all alone."

Draco still didn't answer, though the thought of never again working on the runes with Bill was actually depressing. And then he got angry for being depressed.

Bill cut to the chase. "I came here to apologize," he said.

Draco rolled his eyes, yes, he had been trying to apologize, but that didn't mean he was going to accept it.

"And," Bill continued, looking meaningfully at Draco, "I also came here to also get an apology from you."

"What?" Draco burst out before he could stop himself. He immediately clamped his mouth shut and mentally kicked himself, but Bill gave a slight smile, obviously knowing that his statement was going to elicit a reaction from the unresponsiveness.

"I said some things that I shouldn't have," said Bill, the smile slipping from his face and getting serious. "And I said some things I didn't mean and that was wrong of me. I should have never insinuated that I was going to turn you in. That was never my intention, and it still isn't. I would never do that to you Draco."

Bill's eyes were intense and Draco looked away, staring at the ceiling. Bill continued.

"I should have never mentioned your father."

Draco tensed, but either Bill didn't notice or he was too nice to call attention to it. Draco suspected the latter and it that just made him angrier. It was so much easier hating Bill when he wasn't apologizing.

"It was wrong of me to bring your family into the argument that I caused. It was not my intention- scratch that, it _was_ my intention to make you angry, because I was angry at the time and I'm sorry for that."

Bill fell silent and Draco sneered.

"You done now?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think so," said Bill.

"Good. You can leave now."

Bill sighed. "You aren't going to make this easy on me, are you?" he asked.

"What easy on you?" asked Draco.

"I'm trying to apologize," said Bill.

"It was my impression that you just did," said Draco.

"Draco, stop it," said Bill firmly.

"Stop what?" asked Draco.

"Stop pushing me away," said Bill.

"I'm not pushing anything," said Draco, purposefully misunderstanding his statement. Bill gave a muffled sort of groan out of frustration and Draco smirked.

"Don't push me out like you have everyone else," said Bill. "I'm sorry that I made those comments and broke your trust, but sometimes even the best of friends get into fights."

"Whoever said we were friends?" asked Draco cruelly.

"We worked together, talked, shared stories and secrets," said Bill. "Hate to break it to you, but that counts as a friendship Draco."

"Don't insult me like that," said Draco. Yes, he was pushing Bill away, but that was how he wanted it, wasn't it?

Bill didn't answer, but looked down at the ground, his jaw tightening. Draco felt that bit of guilt again in the back of his mind and no matter how he tried to smother it, it wouldn't go away.

"I'm not trying to insult you, Draco," he said calmly. "Believe me that is the last thing I am trying to do."

"Your very presence is insulting," spat Draco. "Go back to your precious little family. Merlin knows how long they'll actually be alive with their injury rate." Yes, he had remembered what words pushed Bill's button, but to his surprise, Bill only sighed. He half-way wanted Bill to get mad again and start yelling at him, because then he would have an excuse not to talk to Weasley again. Right now, he was still torn between forgiving and holding a grudge, and no matter how much he told himself it was best for him if he just walked away, he couldn't quite bring himself to do it.

"Alright," said Bill, taking a breath and there was a note of finality in his voice. "I'll leave then. Is that what you want?"

Draco blinked. Bill was going to leave? Just like that?

"You have to decide, Draco," said Bill. "Do you want to be friends? Because if not, I'm not going to keep trying."

Draco stared up at Bill blankly. He knew that everyone had their limits, look at the fight that he and Bill got into last week, but two days later and Bill was trying to apologize. This, however, _this_ was permanent. He didn't know what to say, did he want a friend?

Bill gave him a sad sort of smile and then got up.

"Well, get better soon," he said, before moving towards the doors.

Draco watched him, his mind whirling. He had never consciously thought about being friends with Bill, but now that he did, he realized that yes, he had been friends with him. He had relaxed around him, told secrets, and even when he had been angry, he hadn't ratted out the teacher.

So that left him with the question did he want to stay friends with Bill? Bill the Gryffindor and Weasley, spy for the Order, and the man who knew pretty much all of his secrets. He had to admit that it was a relief not to be carrying around all of those secrets all by himself, and that talking with Bill had been the highlights of his week. However, it had hurt when Bill had said those things, but it seemed as if Bill was hurting over the words he had said to Draco as well. He seemed genuinely remorseful.

Draco's fingers sped through their pattern as he thought, and then he turned towards the door just as he reached his decision, only to see it swing shut behind the Professor.

Draco swore, clamored out of bed, and made his way swiftly for the infirmary doors, making a face at the freezing cold tile on his bare feet. He jerked the door open and caught a glimpse of the Professor turning down a hallway.

"Bill!" he whispered loudly.

Bill backtracked, his eyebrows furrowing when he spotted Draco leaning against the doorframe. Draco spoke before Bill could.

"I'm sorry, alright?" he asked, a tad bit belligerently, but it was one of the first times he had ever apologized voluntarily in his life.

"What are you doing out of bed?" asked Bill, coming up to him and frowning.

"Apologizing," said Draco exasperatedly. "That was the whole 'sorry' part or do you need me to repeat it?"

"Why the hell are you apologizing now?" asked Bill. "Go on, get back in bed before you get sick again."

"You can't get sick from exposure to colder temperatures for two minutes," said Draco, but Bill was ushering him in and not paying attention to what he was saying. He climbed back into bed, not lying down but slipping his feet under the blankets. "And you did want me to apologize."

"To apologize, yes," said Bill. "But you could have waited until morning and not tried freezing your feet off."

"Well you made it sound rather like an ultimatum," said Draco, slightly petulantly.

Bill gave an apologetic smile. "Sorry," he said, "I would have allowed you a few days to think it over."

"So kind of you," said Draco sarcastically and Bill chuckled.

"Thank you," he said. He gazed around the infirmary. "Just when I think I got rid of this place," he said. "Visiting Ron and Ginny, now you." He said it in such a way that Draco knew he didn't mind being back at all, and instead of being affronted by the comparison to the Weasley siblings, Draco found that he was rather pleased with the statement.

The silence they lapsed into was uncomfortable, neither of them really knowing what to say to the other. It was almost as if they had just met.

"I blame you," said Draco suddenly.

Bill looked a little startled and a little fearful that Draco was going to get angry again. "For what?" he asked.

"I think it's your fault I'm sick," clarified Draco. "Almost no Slytherins were ill, so I think I caught it from you."

"My sincerest apologies," said Bill, the laughter coming back to his eyes, and just like that, everything was back to normal.

"If you're sorry, you'll get me out tomorrow," said Draco.

"You're demanding the impossible," said Bill. "She kept me in for a week. I think you may be stuck here for a rather long time."

"I'm perfectly fine," said Draco, stifling a huge yawn that came out of no where.

"Sure you are," agreed Bill, standing up and getting ready to leave.

"Where are you going?" asked Draco, narrowing his eyes.

"Letting you get some sleep," said Bill.

"I have been sleeping," said Draco. "I'm bored of sleeping." He sounded rather childish and frowned.

"I guarantee that if you lay back and close your eyes for five minutes, you'll fall asleep no problem."

"I don't believe you," said Draco.

"Well how about you test my hypothesis and find out," said Bill.

Draco scowled.

"I'm serious, Draco," said Bill. "You look pretty bad and rest is the best thing for you right now. I'll come back and visit in the morning."

Draco flopped back onto the pillows, squeezing his eyes shut in an exaggeration of Bill's advice. "Not working," he said.

"It will," said Bill. "Good night, Draco."

He opened his eyes to see the Professor walk away.

"Night," he said, and pulled the blankets up to his waist, staring up at the ceiling. After a few moments he rolled onto his stomach and shifted a bit to get comfortable, and then fell asleep.

Rule number nineteen: Sometimes friendships are a good thing.

He was woken up by voices sometime in the morning before breakfast.

"Professor," said Pomfrey's voice. "What happened?"

"I woke up like this, that's what!"

That was Stevick's voice so Draco opened his eyes and rolled over to see what was happening. The DADA professor was covered in pink splotches and they obviously were irritating his skin because he was scratching like crazy.

"Seems to be an allergic reaction," said Pomfrey. "Have you eaten anything different or come in contact with any odd plants?"

"Not that I recall," said Stevick.

"I'll get you an anti-allergen then," said Pomfrey. She left to go rummage through her cupboards on the far side of the infirmary and Stevick's hand immediately went to scratch his left arm. His left forearm. His eyes closed in an expression of relief as his nails dug into his skin.

He stopped as soon as Pomfrey came back with a potion and drank it.

"My thanks, Poppy," he said.

"Would you like to stay here and wait until it starts to sink in?" asked Pomfrey.

"No, that's alright," said Stevick. "I really must be going."

He left the infirmary and Draco shifted onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, questions running through his mind.

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Bill left for the infirmary after breakfast the next morning, a short stack of books in his hands. He pushed the infirmary door open and stepped in, spotting Draco who was in the same bed as last night, staring up at the ceiling with a slight frown on his face. His fingers were tapping out his pattern, but slowly, deliberately.

Bill walked to his bed and sat down in the chair, but Draco gave no notice that he was aware of his presence.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Bill.

The grey eyes slid towards him briefly and then turned back to the ceiling.

"The horcrux in the school," he said. "The real one's in Dumbledore's office."

"Yes," said Bill. They had already discussed this.

"But the fake is still in the trophy room and someone tried to steal it earlier this year."

"Right," said Bill.

"Did you know that the wards around Hogwarts and the wards inside of Hogwarts are pretty much similar to each other, except one is on a greater scale?"

"The wards inside of Hogwarts?" asked Bill, not knowing what Draco was talking about.

Draco sighed, but pushed himself up a little. "Under-aged witches and wizards aren't allowed to do magic outside of school and the Ministry carefully monitors the use of such magic. However, because they don't want their alarms going off every time we learn to float a feather in Charms class, Hogwarts is warded so that the Ministry doesn't know what type of magic is going on inside of the school."

"Oh," said Bill. "That makes sense."

"There are other types of wards inside the school, like the restricted section of the library. Basically they just concentrated the wards that keep the Ministry blind around the shelves in the library they don't want kids to get at and manipulated them slightly, but that's it."

"What are you saying?" asked Bill.

Draco paused. "I don't know," he said. "Did you know that Stevick knows what a blood-ward is and how to break it?"

"No," said Bill slowly.

"When he taught us about wards Granger asked him about it and he answered. Only ward-breakers know about that sort of stuff."

"Stevick wasn't a ward-breaker," said Bill. "He was an Auror until switching to teaching, and I've seen the papers. He seems legit."

"An Auror," said Draco, leaving the question out of his voice though his eyebrow rose. "That's interesting." His eyes got a calculating look in them, a look that Bill didn't know if he was comfortable with, but Draco blinked and the look was gone.

"I brought you some books to read," said Bill, putting the volumes on the nightstand. "Something to save you from boredom."

"Thanks," said Draco, the word slipping much more easily out of his mouth than it had in the beginning of their odd friendship. Bill grinned at that; Draco frowned.

"What?" the kid asked, his eyes narrowing, as if he knew that Bill was smiling at him.

"Nothing," said Bill.

"Hello, Bill," said Madame Pomfrey coming over. "I almost didn't notice you for a moment. How are you?"

"Doing well," said Bill.

"Good." Pomfrey turned to Draco. "And how are we this morning?"

"_I_ am doing fine," said Draco, stressing the 'I' as opposed to the collective 'we' all doctors seemed to use. "When can I leave?"

Pomfrey snorted. "I'll get you breakfast," she said, bustling off.

"I'm not hungry!" Draco called after her, but she ignored him.

Bill tried not to smile; the kid really was a piece of work. Even with the drawn face and pale countenance and the obvious illness, and he was still as bratty as ever. It was almost endearing.

Pomfrey came back with a breakfast tray and set it on Draco's lap.

"Now, it's just a light, bland breakfast so you can keep it down, but I still want you to eat it. You're far too skinny."

Draco didn't answer but he stared suspiciously at the bowl of porridge and toast, forgoing both in favor of the glass of pumpkin juice.

"I want you to eat," said Pomfrey sternly. "Bill, make sure he eats," Pomfrey ordered and then left to finish stockpiling potions.

"I'm not hungry," Draco told him flatly.

"You really do need to eat," said Bill. "You're skinnier than Harry when he visits in the summer."

Draco looked up at that little spilled bit of information. "What's that about Potter?" he asked.

"Eat your breakfast first," said Bill.

Draco scowled, obviously realizing that Bill had purposefully dropped that tidbit in order to black mail him into eating. Bill was proud of himself for that fact; it was rather Slytherin.

Draco picked up a piece of toast and bit into it. "Happy?" he asked with a slight derisive tone in his voice.

"Long as you keep eating," said Bill. "And this goes no further than you and me."

Draco rolled his eyes, but he took another bite of the bread so Bill explained.

"Harry's relatives, who he stays with for the summer, hate magic and generally have him do all their work. It's not a good environment to bring a kid up in."

He could see Draco's brows furrow slightly as he absently finished the piece of toast. "They lock him up, don't they?" he asked suddenly.

"What makes you say that?" asked Bill.

Draco shrugged. "He reacted badly to a comment I made about him being locked in a cupboard over break. Is it really a cupboard?"

"It used to be, but some Order members may have threatened the culprits, so he has a small room now. It still has locks though."

Draco fiddled with his porridge, scooping some half-heartedly up in his spoon and then letting it glop back down into the bowl. "They don't beat him, do they?" he asked quietly.

Bill felt a faint bit of alarm at the words. Draco had told him that his home life wasn't that bad, but he couldn't help but worry.

"No, they don't," he said. He noticed the slight nod of Draco's head and pushed forward. "May I ask what brought that question on?" he asked softly. "Lucius doesn't-"

"No," said Draco cutting him off. "No, he doesn't." He sighed, letting his spoon drop into the breakfast goo and turned to face him, his grey eyes serious. "Look, Bill, I realize that Lucius isn't exactly…nice and he may not be there most of the time, but he cares for me. He would never lay a hand on me, especially not after-"

Draco cut himself off abruptly, and looked back down at his bowl.

"It's okay," said Bill. "You don't have to say anything. I was just worried for you because Lucius isn't…well, you know."

Draco smirked slightly, going back to scooping up the porridge and letting it splat back in.

"You'd best worry about Narcissa then," he said, his voice in what might be taken for light banter, but because it was Draco, Bill knew that there must be some significance behind the words.

"Anyone else know about it?" he asked, wanting to know more but not wanting to push Draco into talking about it. If Draco didn't want to talk, he wasn't going to force him.

"No," said Draco. "It's really nothing more than criminal negligence. I looked it up in case I ever wanted to press charges."

"That bad?" Bill asked.

"It isn't bad," said Draco, a little bit louder. He let the spoon go again. "I'm all done with my breakfast."

And just like that, the subject was dropped. Bill looked at the tray, shaking his head.

"Eat the other piece of toast and finish your juice," he said.

"I'm not hungry," said Draco.

"Nonsense," said Bill.

"I don't feel like eating," said Draco, and his face did look a little paler as if he was nauseas.

Bill was perceptive. He noticed how Draco had eaten the piece of toast when they had been conversing about Harry, but then the subject of his family had been brought up and he had lost his appetite. He silently cursed Draco's parents for whatever it was that they had done to make him adverse to such a basic survival function like eating.

"You need to eat," he said in an authoritative tone.

Draco took a bite of the second piece of toast and seemed to gag on it for a moment, before forcing it down, looking for all the world like he was going to be ill right then.

"Did I ever tell you about my curse-breaking in the Sahara?" asked Bill, hoping to change the subject quick.

Draco shook his head, his lips pressed tightly together.

"Well, we had to port-key in, but something was wrong with the co-ordinates and so we appeared in the middle of the sand dunes. Normally it would be no problem, we would just Apparate out, but part of our group couldn't Apparate. So we had two people Apparate back to get a search party started, but because the whole damn desert looks the same and they had no clue where we were. To make matters worse, the officials couldn't use common detection spells."

"Because the sand and dry atmosphere keep reflecting magic for months after the spells are cast," said Draco, cutting in.

"Exactly," said Bill, watching as Draco managed to get a bit more toast down. "So we were stuck in the bloody desert for five days, living on lizards and a few snakes because all of the rest of our stuff was at the camp we were supposed to be at."

"What did it taste like?" asked Draco, finishing the bread.

"It wouldn't have been so bad if we had been better cooks, but most of us were young males with no knowledge of cooking whatsoever."

Draco smirked at that, drinking half of his pumpkin juice before setting it down and pushing his tray away slightly. Bill decided not to press his luck and removed the tray, placing it on an empty bed.

"Well, I should probably head out," said Bill. "But, I got you some books that should keep you entertained."

He set the stack of books on the nightstand and got up.

"You get better soon, alright?" he asked.

"Sure," said Draco.

Bill gave him a parting smile, resisting the urge to tousle Draco's hair like he did with Ron, and headed towards the door, but Draco's voice caused him to stop.

"Hey, Bill?"

Bill turned slightly to see Draco watching him with his hands twisting in the blankets.

"Just thanks," said the kid.

Bill wondered what he was referring to, but he nodded anyway. "Anytime," he said truthfully.

Draco nodded and Bill left the infirmary.

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Are you glad that Draco and Bill are friends again? If so, leave a review. If not, leave a flame. ;-D


	23. Rule 20: People's own minds

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own a new outfit though (don't you just love it when sisters get rid of clothing, and you actually find stuff that fits and looks nice on you?).

**BlondeSurferBabe**: Hey, thanks for reviewing, and yes, there will be more Claire, just not for a while yet  
**Lisa**: We will find out more about Draco's childhood in a few chapters time. Thanks for reviewing!  
**Beccaboo991**: Thank you very much, I'm glad that you are enjoying this story so much. Thanks for the review.  
**Mask**: As a pyro, you would know, right? And how do you know that lizard doesn't taste bad?  
**Anonymous**: Well, no ships in this story, but keep a look out for the next chapter (wink-wink)  
**Meirta**: Thanks for the review, and Bill will find out about Draco, but not for a while yet. Thanks for reviewing!  
**Chicklepea**: LOL, I love your reviews (and chocolate chip cookies- in fact, I even made some in the lounge on my dorm floor, yum!) Thanks for the review.  
**Rachel**: That was hilarious. Thank you so much for the review!  
**Gremlin**: Yay!

As always, thanks to my amazing beta!

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Chapter 23

_Rule number twenty: People's own minds are their greatest deceivers. Use that against them._

Draco was released from the infirmary in time for Ancient Runes on Thursday, but he really didn't feel like going to the class, so instead he wandered the halls until it was time for his after-class session. He didn't really have anyplace in particular to go, but as usual he found himself meandering down in the lower level halls.

There was something about the underground of Hogwarts that Draco liked. The stone paths and ceiling were lit only by flickering torches hammered into stone walls and most of the classrooms were locked. When he was younger and couldn't fall asleep, he would often come down to break into the rooms and go exploring, though he was careful to pick the rooms he entered carefully.

The book, _Hogwarts, A History_, did not explain why some of the lower classrooms were better left undisturbed, but _Hogwarts, A Dark History_ did. It was banned literature in the wizarding world so naturally Draco had a copy. Most of the stories in the book were false, based on rumors and lies, but there were some that spoke the truth. After all, Hogwarts was an old school, and most old things have secrets.

Draco ignored the pounding as he passed one of the locked doors. That would be a ghoul, a particularly nasty ghoul at that. _A Dark History_ said that the ghoul was once a wood sprite that had turned bad due to some rather tragic incidences. Draco confirmed that story in fourth year during one of the Tri-Wizard Tournament challenges when he opened the door and nearly set it loose accidentally. There was no way he was going near that thing again. Although he figured that if it ever was set free, Dumbledore could merely banish it back again. He figured that because the door had only been locked with a simple chain. It was the doors that were warded that you needed to worry about because they were shut like that for a reason.

He heard muttered cursing around a corner and snuck quietly to the edge of the wall to see what was going on. Stevick was there, his wand pointed at a door that glowed blue. He was trying to open a warded door.

Draco stepped out into the hall, drawing the teacher's attention.

"Oh!" jumped Stevick, starting at the noise and turning to him. He seemed to relax when he saw it was a student. "Oh, it's just you, Mr. Malfoy," he said, his hand at his heart. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"What are you doing?" asked Draco bluntly.

"What am I doing?" reiterated Stevick.

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. There was no doubt that the man was desperately thinking of an excuse.

"Well, you see, I am-, I am trying to open this door," announced Stevick triumphantly.

"It's locked," said Draco.

"Which is why it isn't opened yet," said Stevick, flashing him a smile.

"Maybe it's locked for a reason," said Draco, settling his stormy eyes on the teacher.

"Ah, perhaps," said Stevick. "Yes, you are right." He pocketed his wand and looked about nervously.

"Why were you trying to open the door?" asked Draco, figuring that since the blunt approach was working so far he might as well use it.

"That's none of your business!" snapped Stevick. He suddenly seemed to remember that he was the teacher and Draco was a student because he drew himself up. "It is no business of yours," he said. "And you should be in class. Move along then."

Draco gave him one last leveling look. That was it; he was going to write Lucius about the DADA professor.

Since he still had a few minutes left he went to his dormitory and quickly wrote out a letter, making sure not to sound too prying. He looked over his results once he was done.

_Father,  
As you no doubt heard, I have been ill for a while, but now I find myself fully recovered. I blame the filth in the school for such rampant diseases and am looking forward to a change in regime that might better the conditions here_.

It was true, he did blame the filth in the school; however he was talking literal filth, like bacteria and such, while Lucius would read into the letter what he wanted to hear.

Rule number twenty: People's own minds are their greatest deceivers. Use that against them.

_I have another reason for writing to you. I recently discovered a Mr. Bryant Stevick acting rather peculiarly and am unsure how I should react to this, as the action I caught him in was one not entirely legal and rather dangerous. I am not familiar with his family or his acquaintances and so I do not know how to respond to the situation. I believe some additional information is necessary for a correct rejoinder and so await your letter._

_Your son,  
Draco Malfoy_

He smirked at the careful wording and then folded the letter, slipping it into a special pouch that would only open to his father. He made a quick stop to the owlery and sent it off, already impatient for the reply.

He made excellent timing on the way to Ancient Runes, coming in just as the students were let out.

"Playing hooky, Draco?" asked Bill, once the other students were gone. "I happen to know for a fact that you were to be let out early this afternoon."

Draco shrugged. "I was bored. Didn't feel like coming in to re-learn anything, no offence."

"None taken," said Bill easily.

Draco glanced up at the board, decoding the instructions in his head, raising an eyebrow at the message.

"Sounds like a fun night," he said.

Bill looked at him, impressed that he had translated the hidden words already. The board read 'Plan to take horcrux - no info yet'.

"It's actually getting a little boring," said Bill. "The same old speech every night about power and glory can get really tiresome."

Draco's lips quirked up at that and he began looking over the Ancient Runes as Bill erased the board.

"You may want to keep an eye on Stevick," said Draco once Bill took the seat across from him.

"I thought you didn't trust Claire," said Bill.

"I don't," said Draco. "But I don't trust Stevick either."

"May I ask why?"

"I saw him messing around with one of the doors on the dungeon level about half an hour ago," said Draco.

"What's so wrong with that?" asked Bill.

"The door was warded," said Draco.

"Why would the doors be warded?" asked Bill. Draco looked at him in disbelief.

"You don't know?" he asked.

"Apparently not," said Bill.

"Unbelievable," said Draco. "Most of Slytherin knows, but then again, I doubt that Gryffindors would really care about such things."

"What things?" asked Bill.

Draco set the scroll he was looking at down on the table.

"The Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets isn't the only monster hidden in this school."

"What do you mean?" asked Bill, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Hogwarts is old," said Draco, "and it has a lot of secrets. There are thirteen locked rooms in the dungeon and six of those doors have wards on them."

"What's in them?" asked Bill.

"The unlocked ones hold ghouls or poltergeists. I haven't been able to unlock the other ones, but then again, I haven't tried. I haven't even wanted to try it to be honest."

"Why not?" asked Bill.

"The Chamber was warded," said Draco. "It needed a password to get in, but it was still warded."

"So, there are more basilisks," said Bill.

"More dark creatures, like ghouls and what not," said Draco. "So you may want to watch out for Stevick."

"You think he was trying to open the door on purpose?" asked Bill.

"He wasn't trying to open the door," said Draco.

"But you jus-,"

"He was trying to figure out _how _it opened," said Draco.

"How can you tell the difference?" asked Bill.

"He told me he was trying to open the door," said Draco, "but he was lying. Hence, he must have been trying to figure out how to break the wards."

"You think he might be working for Voldemort," said Bill.

"Maybe," said Draco. "Why don't you just destroy the Horcrux since you have it?"

"The Horcrux is still linked to Voldemort," said Bill. "He would know if it is destroyed and we want to catch the spy."

"Makes sense," said Draco, frowning slightly. "Though, I think it would be safest if you just destroyed the thing. Maybe then the spy would leave."

"We still need to know who the spy is," said Bill.

"In hopes to clear Snape?" asked Draco.

"And to make sure there's nothing else they have planned for the school. Information is what will win this war, and right now, Voldemort knows more about us than we do about him."

"It's because the Dark Lord doesn't share information with the members of his Death Eaters," said Draco.

"Why do you call him the 'Dark Lord'?" asked Bill.

Draco blinked and looked up. "What?"

"Well, you don't flinch when I say Voldemort like so many people do, but you always refer to him as the Dark Lord."

"Habit, I guess," said Draco. "I've never really heard him called anything else. It's not like I'm afraid to say his name or anything, it just never occurred to me."

"Say it," said Bill.

"What?"

"Say Voldemort," said Bill, pressing on.

"Voldemort," said Draco shrugging. "What was that for?"

Bill smiled. "I just wanted to see if you could say it without stuttering."

"And the verdict is?" asked Draco.

"You're the only person I know who can just say Voldemort for the first time and say it completely casually."

"It's just a name," said Draco. "Then again, maybe it's easier for me because I've grown up with Death Eaters."

"That's another thing I've been meaning to ask," said Bill. "If you don't agree with Voldemort, then why are you dressed like a miniature Death Eater?" Bill gestured to his all black clothes.

Draco shrugged. "So people think I am," he said. "Plus, it annoys Lucius."

Bill laughed and then they got to work.

Draco received the reply from Lucius two days later during the morning mail delivery. He took the letter from the owl and then left the table, going down a hall a little ways for privacy and breaking the seal, which was an exact replica of the signum on Draco's back. It was the Malfoy seal and would only open for a Malfoy.

_Draco,  
Mr. Stevick is indeed a new acquaintance. It would be best if you did not involve yourself in anything that is not your business. That is a warning._

_Your father,  
Lucius S. Malfoy_

Draco rolled his eyes at his father's letter. How was it that Lucius managed to make his written words sound as curt and disinterested as his actual voice? He read the line underneath his father's signature, though there was no post script marked.

_I am glad that you are no longer ill. Take care of yourself._

Draco raised an eyebrow at that. For his father to mention that he was glad Draco wasn't ill anymore meant that he actually must have worried about him. For Lucius to order him to take care of himself meant that he cared about his son. His father never ceased to amaze him; just when he had figured that his father really was a bastard, and then he went and did something like this, reminding Draco that there was always that little bit of Lucius that genuinely felt some sort of fatherly affection for him.

He re-read the last line, feeling a warmth in his chest, the warmth he got whenever Lucius nodded in approval or clasped his shoulder in pride.

"Good news, I take it?" asked Bill, who had obviously followed him, and strangely enough, Draco didn't mind so much.

Draco shrugged. "I wrote Father about Stevick. He's useful for that sort of information."

"What does he say?" asked Bill.

Draco handed the letter over. Bill looked a little surprised but took it, skimming the few sentences quickly, his eyes pausing slightly on the last two lines.

"So, what do you think?" asked Bill, handing the letter.

Draco refolded the letter, covering the seal and then pressing down on the wax. The letter burst into flame and he tossed it aside. It was ash before it hit the ground, just another saftey precaution.

"Seems rather self-explanatory," he said curtly. "Keep your eyes open Bill. It is your life on the line, not mine."

He nodded and turned around, heading down to the Slytherin Common Room to think.

Stevick was obviously the Death Eater spy, and he had been so sure that it was Claire. He was hardly ever wrong, and that disturbed him. What was even more disturbing was the fact that he felt…concern for Bill, which was something that was foreign to him and caught him off balance. That was why he was a little brisk with Bill, but his concern wasn't unjustified. Stevick had been an Auror, which meant that he obviously knew how to handle himself, and while Draco figured Bill would be decent in a fight, he didn't know if Bill would win. That thought scared him.

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Bill watched as Draco folded up the letter then dropped it as it caught fire and simply flamed into ash.

"Seems rather self-explanatory," said Draco, a terse tone in his cold voice. "Keep your eyes open Bill. It is your life on the line, not mine."

Bill stared at Draco as he gave a brief nod, turned on his heel and left. He was pretty sure that there had been a little bit of trepidation in his voice, and he had a feeling that Draco wasn't uneasy out of fear for himself. He smiled slightly, wondering if the kid was actually worried about him.

He thought back to the beginning of the encounter. He had seen Draco receive a letter and then leave, so Bill had followed, finding the kid standing a little ways down the hall, a strange expression on his face. The pale lips weren't smiling, but they were relaxed and the eyes weren't clouded over but they were the bright liquid mercury that Bill caught glimpses of when Draco was unguarded, the usual cloud and ice cover gone.

He had wondered what it was that had affected him so; he had assumed it was some sort of good news. Draco had handed him the letter, an act of trust that left Bill surprised. He had read the letter, wondering what sort of father talked to their son like that, but then he had read the last two lines.

_I am glad that you are no longer ill. Take care of yourself._

Really, he had thought in outrage, the kid had collapsed from delirium for Merlin's sake! That at least warranted a visit from a parent, or at the very least a care package, not some after thought on a letter. And it wasn't even as if Lucius had written first; Draco had been the one to start the correspondence.

And yet Draco had looked happy. No, that was too strong of a word. He looked content, satisfied, maybe even slightly pleased at the attention from the two sentences, if they even deserved that name. They were more like snippets.

Not for the first time, Bill wished that Draco had better parents. Just think of what he could have done if he had been brought up properly; no doubt he could create a cure for lycanthropy or something equally amazing. But it wasn't just the academic achievements that Bill considered. The kid honestly deserved a real family. Bill almost felt guilty that his own parents were so wonderful and silently vowed to be as nice and as encouraging to the kid as possible.

He shook himself from his musings about Draco and thought about what the letter had said. If Stevick really was a Death Eater, as the letter implied, then Dumbledore needed to know. Well, he couldn't exactly tell the Headmaster how he knew, but he could at least fill him in on a little bit.

He headed to the Headmaster's office, telling the stone gargoyle 'Licorice Wands' before being ushered up and called into the Headmaster's office.

"Hello, William," said Dumbledore. "Would you like a lemon drop?"

"Actually, yes," said Bill. His mouth still held the after taste of coffee and the lemon sweet was welcome. He popped the candy into his mouth as Dumbledore finished up his paper work, amusing himself by trying to identify all of the little trinkets in the room. No doubt Draco could in an instant flat.

"Sorry for the wait," said Dumbledore, moving the papers to the side.

"No problem," said Bill, his mouth now free of the sweet but retaining the lemon flavor.

"What was it you wished to discuss?" asked Dumbledore.

"Stevick tried to break the wards down in one of the dungeon classrooms," said Bill.

"Ahh," said Dumbledore, sitting back in his chair and getting a thoughtful expression on his face.

"So, their really are ghouls and what not locked away down there," said Bill, knowing that he shouldn't be surprised that Draco was right, but still, ghouls in Hogwarts?

"Where did you learn that?" asked Dumbledore.

Bill hesitated, before deciding he may as well tell the Headmaster.

"Draco Malfoy, believe it or not," he said.

"You have contact with him?" asked Dumbledore, looking curious.

"You did tell me to keep an eye on him after the bat attack," said Bill.

"Yes, I did, didn't I?" mused Dumbledore.

"Well, I have to tutor him as well. His summer class didn't really cover all the Ancient Runes I'm teaching so we meet after class on Thursdays. He was late to class this week, told me that he had just gotten released from the infirmary and was taking a shortcut to the Slytherin rooms for his books when he ran into Stevick who could verify his story."

Bill honestly had no clue where this twisted version of the tale was coming from, but there was enough truth in it to make his lie not completely obvious.

"When I asked him what Stevick was doing down there, he told me that the teacher was trying to open a warded door. I was confused and that's when he told me about the ghouls."

"I see," said Dumbledore, slowly. "This could be signaling an attempt for the Horcrux."

"How so?" asked Bill.

"The wards outside and inside of Hogwarts are very similar," said Dumbledore. "If he really was the one to bring in the bat, then he knows that there are loopholes in the wards and maybe trying to figure out how to break through them completely. By practicing on the doors, he could be practicing to bring the entire system down, which would leave Hogwarts open to an attack."

Bill marveled at the fact that a sixteen year old boy had practically told him the same thing two days ago.

"I suppose this means we should all keep an eye on Stevick then," said Bill.

"Yes, it does," said Dumbledore. "I'll alert the Order."

Bill nodded. "Thank you for your time Headmaster," he said, getting up but Dumbledore stopped him with a question.

"Do you believe Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater?" he asked.

Bill tried to keep his face clear of emotion, and managed rather successfully. "As of now, he isn't," he said slowly. "When we do…converse, he always avoids that subject, but I know that he doesn't have the Mark."

Dumbledore sat back. "So, either Mr. Malfoy is a Death Eater-to-be and is alerting us to Stevick's actions purposefully, or he is merely unaware of what is going on."

"I have a feeling it's neither of those two," said Bill. "He's a surprising young man. Have a good day, Headmaster."

"Good day, William," said Dumbledore.

Bill let himself out of the office and back down the stairs. Draco was leaning against the wall across the hall, obviously waiting for him.

"Draco," said Bill startled. "What are you doing?"

"Staking out the target," said Draco, shrugging. "This is where the Horcrux is." He stood and jerked his head to the left, wanting Bill to walk with him. Bill followed, rather confused but looking about to make sure no one saw them conversing, that could be detrimental to both of their positions.

"So, I've revised my original thoughts on the whole door-opening incident," said Draco, once they were down a rather deserted corridor.

"Which were?" asked Bill.

"I thought that Stevick was going to figure out how the wards work to bring them down across the entire school," said Draco. "But I forgot one thing."

"That was?" prodded Bill.

"It's impossible," said Draco, raising his arms slightly in one of the most openly expressive moves Bill had ever seen him make. "There is no way one person could bring down the outside protective barrier of Hogwarts; it's that powerful. The odds of that happening are so astronomical it's easier to say that you are more likely to be struck by lightning, attacked by a great white shark, and get mauled by an animal escaped from a zoo all on the same day."

Bill blinked. Draco released a breath and Bill realized that the statistical tangent Draco had just gone off on could be his equivalent of an emotional outburst. He wondered what had set him off.

"The point is," said Draco, adapting his usualy drawl, "that he can't bring down the outside barriers. He can however bring down the inside ones, which means that not only would the doors in the dungeon open, but the Headmaster's office would as well, leaving the Horcrux unprotected."

"But how would Stevick know that the Horcrux is in Dumbledore's office?" asked Bill.

"You said someone made an attempt at the fake. The person obviously realized that it was a replacement and figured that Dumbledore knew what it was. The safest place in Hogwarts is Dumbledore's office."

"So you're saying that we're going to be attacked by dark ghouls," said Bill.

"And various other creatures, depending on what else is in those rooms," said Draco. He pulled a book out of his bag and tossed it to Bill. "Happy reading."

Bill looked at the cover, _Dark Curses for Dark Creatures_. "Grand," he said.

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Next chapter things get exciting. Be aware of dark ghouls, dark marks, and dark magic. Leave a review!


	24. Rule 21: If blame must be placed

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I own the recommendation my teacher was supposed to give me a week and a half ago. Blah!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Updates might be a bit slower because college is winding down and finals are coming up, sorry about that. Best wishes for all of those with upcoming exams!

Rachel: lol. Thanks for reviewing.  
Gremlin: I'm glad to bring light to grey days. Anything for my reviewers!  
Meirta: Perhaps, but I think that Draco would be smart enough to see past the ultimatum, but, I also did that to keep the story on track, so maybe I'm biased on his actions  
Mask: the alliteration was just a slogan, I'm no Dr. Seuss, you'll have to forgive me  
Beccaboo991: Draco was just upset that he cared enough to worry about Bill, thanks for reviewing  
Slickslytherin: wow, thank you very much, I appreciate it  
Valjns: Thanks! I'm glad that you find it original, that is one of the main characteristics I'm striving for  
QuinkyDink: No final battle, and the story is nearing the climax, thanks for reviewing, hope you had a good holiday yourself  
Kely5: Thanks for the review, and no romance for Draco in this one  
Dreamcandy: Thanks for the review, I'm glad that you like Draco in this story, I like to write about him because there's so many possibilities to explore with him

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Chapter 24

_Rule number twenty-one: If blame must be placed, place it on something you have no control over and make it someone else's responsibility._

The next week was quiet, almost too quiet for the younger students, but for the students in the upper grades, it was hell. It was April now, which meant that teachers were starting to warn students about OWLs for the fifth years, NEWTs for the seventh years, and finals for the sixth years who were constantly getting harped on the fact that this year's information was going to be on the NEWTs for next year, so they had better get a good grade on their finals else they would fail their NEWTs, not get a job, and live in Knockturn Alley for the rest of their life. Draco, however, knew that while jobs in Knockturn Alley were usually illegal, the pay was incredible.

Seeing as most of the students did not have that bit of information on jobs in Knockturn Alley, there was an outbreak of frantic studying so that the entire library was filled up and the tables crowded with students. Draco found himself one Saturday forced to share a table with Granger, and two seventh year Ravenclaws. He tried his best to ignore them, which was a little hard seeing as Granger was working on the same paper he was and he had the book she needed.

"Malfoy, can I see the book?" she asked finally, ten minutes after Draco had put the volume down.

"You have eyes, don't you?" Draco asked, not even looking up.

"Can I borrow it for a few minutes?" she rephrased exasperated.

"Get your own copy," said Draco.

"They're all checked out," she said.

"So go find someone who will share with you then."

"I was wondering if you would."

"Why should I?" he asked. "Last I checked you and your two boyfriends were trying to hex me behind my back."

"First of all, they are not my boyfriends. Secondly, you weren't the example of kindness either."

"I was sick," said Draco shrugging. "Wasn't myself."

"You were too much yourself," said Hermione. "Don't try for petty excuses."

"Now you're calling me petty? Not the greatest way to ask for a favor, Granger. Now there's no way I'm letting you use the book."

"Not like I expected you to," she muttered, packing her things and obviously getting ready to leave.

"Hey, Hermione!" called a voice, which was immediately followed by a harsh "Shhh!" from Madame Pince.

"Sorry!" the voice called even louder, just to spite the librarian.

Draco watched Hermione shake her head in hopelessness, though she was smiling, and heard footsteps behind him as the person came over. It turned out to be the littlest weasel.

"Hi," said Ginny to the other girl in an excited, giddy tone. "I just thought you should know that Ben Sumner just told Heidi Kelper that he was having trouble with his Arithmancy and Jeremy Sutherland said that he should ask you because you were the smartest in the class."

"And?" asked Granger.

Ginny looked scandalized. "He's _Jeremy_ _Sutherland_," she said in a tone that obviously meant being complimented by Jeremy Sutherland was a big deal. "We've really got to work on your socialization skills, 'Mione. Jeremy Sutherland is perhaps the hottest guy in school, 'sides Malfoy here that is."

She said it so off-handedly that Draco almost didn't realize she had mentioned his name. When it sunk in, his head snapped up to stare at the Weaselette who wasn't paying him any attention in the least bit, but was looking expectantly at Granger.

"Do you want to know what he said next?" she asked. She didn't wait for a reply but pressed right on. "He said that _he_ wouldn't mind having private sessions with you at all. In fact, it might be the only time he would ever look forward to Arithmancy."

"Sounds like a real nice guy," said Granger, rolling her eyes. "In fact, he sounds almost as priggish as Malfoy." She glared at him, still sore over the fact that he wouldn't let her have the book.

"How is Malfoy priggish today?" asked Ginny, letting her bag drop and kneeling at the table, resting her head on her arms.

"Won't let me use the book he is finished with," said Granger, still glaring.

Ginny looked at her, then at Draco, then reached out and took the book.

"Here you are, Hermione," she said, handing the older girl the tome.

Hermione took the book with hesitation, waiting for Draco to say something. He didn't; he figured that if the Weaselette had enough guts to take the book from the Ice Prince of Slytherin, she could have it. He was done with it anyway.

Ginny settled herself on the ground as there were no more open seats, and pulled out her books and parchment, leaning against Hermione's chair. To Draco's surprise she didn't talk constantly.

He had never consciously studied the littlest Weasley. From what he had seen around school, and from this last encounter, he had thought she was merely a chatty, naturally upbeat, preppy kind of girl, but watching her now, he had to edit his characterization of her. She could be quiet and studious, working with concentration and, judging by her progress through a worksheet, with ease.

He turned back to his own work, his analysis of Ginevra Weasley finished. He completed his essay just as the bell for lunch rang and gathered up all of his things and joined the mad rush to the Great Hall. It was in the middle of the trek downwards that the alarms went off.

Draco's first action was to pull out his wand as the loud, blaring bells started sounding while the students around him screamed and shouted to each other to ask what was going on. He already knew. That alarm meant that the wards had been breached in some way.

Teachers appeared in the hall, trying to shout over the noise and to get them all to go straight to the Great Hall where there were additional protective wards. It didn't work and only added to the general confusion and students who weren't even in the halls started coming out as well, hands over their ears.

The alarm cut off suddenly and everyone stopped talking, leaving the hall eerily silent while the students nervously shifted to see what was happening and even the teachers looked worried. Then, in the midst of the jostling students on the verge of panic, there came a keening noise.

Draco whipped around to see a ghoul hovering up in the air near the ceiling at the end of the hall, a leering smile on the black lips so that pointed yellow teeth were revealed. Ghouls were originally wood sprites or faeries or nymphs before circumstances caused them to 'go bad'. Research today still didn't tell why they went dark, but some theorized they could be turned when Dark Magic hits them.

Draco figured that this particular ghoul used to be a nymph of some sort and he would say a river nymph specifically if he had to guess. The long black hair hung in tatters around the sunken face and there were no eyes, just deep, black sockets. The ghoul was slight, still in the remaining vestiges of a dress that was now no more than rags. It was tall, tall and thin, but there were claws on the hands and feet and the ghoul opened its mouth and screamed.

"Get down!" Draco shouted, knowing that the scream usually signaled an attack, but the students couldn't hear him over the ear-piercing shriek. They were trying to find the source of the noise now, and as the ghoul was so high up, many students got a good look at the creature.

The ghoul swooped forward. Draco had forgotten how fast they were, nothing more then a blur. The students screamed, throwing themselves to the ground to avoid the attack, even though the motion was futile. While ghouls couldn't see, they could detect body heat, and so it knew right where the students were.

Draco conjured up a shield charm just as the claws reached out to swipe a Ravenclaw girl and the ghoul was thrown backwards, going through a side wall like a ghost.

Before Draco had time to revel in that slight victory, there was a crash above them, like an explosion, and faint yelling could be heard. The students stared dumbly at the ceiling, wondering what was happening to their school.

"Everyone to the Great Hall!" commanded McGonagall sharply, rounding a corner and finding them all standing there like idiots. She was slightly out of breath, not doubt running to get all the students inside the Great Hall. Her voice was not panicked, just affirmative, and the students immediately started towards her. Draco, who would have rather stayed back and found the ghoul, was pushed along with the crowd.

As it turned out, the ghoul found them. Ghouls are known for their relentless pursuit of a particular quarry, and while that can be taken as a purely animalistic move, ghouls are intelligent, able to come up with the best means of attack. This appeared when the crowd was just on the stairs, the railing keeping most of the students in place as it attacked again.

It lunged from the front, the students in the back of the group scattering down the hall, and the children in the front trying to turn around only to be blocked by the students right behind them. Draco couldn't get a clear shot at the ghoul with everyone screaming and pushing this way and that, trying to get away, and the ghoul swept right into the middle of the group, swiping its claws in the mass of children.

There were several screams and shrieks, but now students were able to slip past the ghoul in the front, staying close to the edges of the stairs and scurrying to freedom, encouraged on by McGonagall who was already at the bottom of the staircase.

The ghoul was finally repelled by a few spells from the students in the thick of things while Draco tried to push his way forward; however he was nearest the top of the stairs, and so he was constantly shoved backwards as students fled. He could see that in the front of the steps a few students, who had forgotten about the trick step, were now fighting to free themselves from the stairs. The littlest Weasley was helping them.

The ghoul leapt again, not noticing the stuck students as of yet. Draco was able to shove himself against the flow of students and so had a clear shot at the lunging ghoul, but Granger, who was at the bottom, beat him to it, shouting "Impedimenta!" in a clear voice.

The ghoul was flung backwards, but recovered quickly. Magic was harmful to the dark spirit, but the spells had to be strong. The ghoul snarled as it clung to the ceiling, high above them, its eye sockets finally turning in the direction of those trapped on the trick step, or rather, the second year Hufflepuff who was knee deep in marble, and Ginny Weasley who was trying to pull him out. She seemed to have freed the others already.

The stairs finally emptied of students and Draco made his way down until he was three steps away from Ginny and the boy. The ghoul snarled in his direction and he froze, staring at the ghoul, then glancing about to take note of the layout. Granger was with McGonagall across the hall, guarding students in an empty classroom. They were yelling for Ginny to hurry, but the Hufflepuff boy was too hysterical for Ginny to get a good grip on him.

Draco could hear voices down the hall at the bottom of the stairs. It sounded like teachers coming to help, but the ghoul noticed them too. It screamed, then threw itself from the ceiling, plummeting straight for the two, its claws outstretched like a hawk ready to grab a mouse.

Ginny jerked the boy's leg out, the momentum making her fall back as the boy ran towards McGonagall. Ginny scrambled to her feet as the ghoul headed straight for her. Draco waited one more second before bursting into action, speeding down the last few steps, grabbing the girl in his arms, and propelling them away from the leaping ghoul. He spun as they ran so he was facing the creature, Ginny wrapped in a protective embrace. He raised his wand and yelled the spell.

"_Cremo manium_!"

The ghoul burst into flame, screaming again, this time in pain, as it flared with red heat. Draco could feel the burn of a lick of fire as he whirled around again to place his body in front of the flames, shielding the girl in his arms. The scream cut off abruptly and Draco didn't move, breathing heavily as he tried to regain his composure. Ginny was tense against him, her hands gripping his shoulders. She peeked around him to look at the ghoul, or what remained of it after that spell, and then laughed in giddiness. She pulled closer to him, resting her head on his chest as she smiled.

"Wow," she said, and Draco figured she probably didn't realize who it was she was holding onto.

He turned as well, pulling away slightly, though he still held onto her arm because he didn't think she was quite recovered. The ghoul was no more than a smoking pile of black on the floor at their feet.

"Ginny."

The voice came from the side, and both he and Ginny turned to see Bill with Dumbledore who had obviously just arrived and seen only the last few minutes of the spectacle. Bill looked shaken, completely pale, as if he were going to faint that moment.

Ginny looked up at Draco, holding his gaze. "Thank you," she said, sincerely.

Draco watched as she smiled again and walked calmly towards her brother, who looked more frightened then she did, which was slightly amusing as she was the one who had nearly died.

He turned back to the remains of the ghoul, pocketing his wand as black smoke slowly wafted from the pile of…whatever it was ghouls were reduced to after being subjected to intense heat and subsequently combusting on sight and, whatever it was, it smelled foul.

"Mr. Malfoy," said the Headmaster approaching him. "Would you go to my office, please? I shall join you momentarily. The password is 'Licorice Wands'."

Draco raised an eyebrow. He had expected the meeting; he hadn't expected the confection-inspired password. He gave a curt nod and carefully stepped around the remains and up the stairs, glaring at the stares of the other students who were now crowding close to the action. They all retreated slightly as he passed.

He had always known where the Headmaster's office was, but he had never been inside, and so it was with a feeling of curiosity and slight anxiety that he told the stone gargoyle the password and ascended the spiral staircase.

He hesitated momentarily at the door, but then pushed it open and found himself in one of the most intriguing magical rooms he had ever been in, and as he was a pureblooded wizard, that was saying something because he had seen hundreds of magical rooms before.

It was a bright, circular room, the main focus was of course the large desk, Dumbledore's obviously, but there were two chairs in front of the desk and various other cupboards and cabinets that held a variety of little instruments, some of which were extremely rare or old, but Draco knew them all.

There were a few ward-monitors, a few crystals balls that no doubt monitored the grounds, some gadgets just for amusement, and some truth-revealers. Those last types were placed in a convenient way to allow the person sitting behind the desk to have them fully in their line of sight. It was practically Slytherin, and Draco was grudgingly impressed.

Truth-revealers worked on most people because most people didn't notice them, and they were always accurate, although also easily fooled if you knew how. Truth-revealers couldn't work on half-truths, and if one was a Legilimens, which Draco was, then it was possible to lie outright, if the proper shields were in place.

There was a squawk and he whirled around and noticed the phoenix for the first time. He realized then that he hadn't noticed it because it was so ill, it could barely move, and sat on its perch looking as if it was going to kick the bucket any moment. In fact, no sooner had the thought crossed his mind, then the bird went up in flames.

Draco was strangely drawn to the fiery death of the animal, and took a step closer, surprised to find that the bird seemed oddly peaceful in the flames and then all that was left was a pile of ash.

"Quite the opposite reaction than that of Mr. Potter when he first saw the death of Fawkes," said Dumbledore.

Draco jerked his head up to see the Headmaster standing in the doorway with a curious expression in the bright eyes. The Headmaster walked around and sat behind his desk, pulling out some papers as he did so.

"Mr. Potter had thought that he had somehow inadvertently killed my bird," said Dumbledore, smiling at the memory. Draco didn't respond, but watched as Dumbledore slowly filtered through the pages.

"Is Fawkes the first phoenix you've seen?" asked Dumbledore looking up, his eyes sliding slightly to the left where there was a truth-revealer.

"Yes," said Draco simply. The truth-revealer didn't light up, and Draco smirked. He had seen his first phoenix when he was six, when his brother had taken him to the zoo.

Dumbledore nodded. "Please have a seat. I'm sorry about the wait, but the Ministry had to be contacted and a prisoner had to be taken away."

He looked at Draco, who made his way carefully to the chair that allowed him view of the door, and sat, making sure no emotion was on his face.

"It seems our DADA professor hasn't been exactly role-model material," the Headmaster continued. "Let loose a number of dark creatures from the dungeons. Fortunately we were able to set a number of new wards to at least contain most of the creatures, though a troll and two dark ghouls escaped."

"Extremely fortunate," said Draco, slightly impatient and letting it show.

Dumbledore studied him, and the eyes twinkled as if Draco were some sort of precocious child. "I suppose you want me to get down to business," he said. "Which is completely understandable. You are here because of the spell you used. It is not anything taught here at school and isn't entirely legal."

"It's not illegal either," Draco said coolly.

Dumbledore's eyes lost a bit of their sparkle. "That is true," he said. "But it does border on Dark Magic."

"It is not classified as such," Draco responded.

"Again, true, but as it is a spell that is frowned upon in society and as it is quite advanced for your age, I am going to have to ask you where you learned it."

Draco had known this was the reason for the office meeting. It was standard procedure when a 'grey' spell was used to question the caster to make sure no ill-intent was involved, and to also figure out where the spell was learned, so that if it was a dark book, the proper actions could be taken.

"A Guide to Dark Creatures," said Draco promptly. "It's in the restricted area of the library, third bookcase, top shelf. Page 492. It doesn't go into detail; it just says that it is sometimes used for dark ghouls."

There. Completely harmless and school sponsored, and all of it true. He resisted the urge to smirk.

Rule number twenty-one: If blame must be placed, place it on something you have no control over and make it someone else's responsibility.

"I suppose it is a good thing for Miss Weasley that you remembered such a tiny detail," said Dumbledore, not fooled in the least bit.

"Yes," said Draco, in a tone of unconcerned confidence, because even though Dumbledore knew that he was lying, there was no way to prove it. And just because he was feeling cocky for using an almost-dark curse in Hogwarts and deceiving a truth-revealer in the Dumbledore's office, he continued.

"I am not foolish enough to use a dark curse while you are still Headmaster."

"Not even if another's life was at stake?" asked Dumbledore.

For some reason he hesitated ever-so-slightly, and tried to make up for the hitch by blurting the answer everyone would expect him to give without consciously thinking about it.

"Of course not," he said.

Dumbledore glanced to the left and smiled slightly. Draco followed his gaze and froze. There was a red light blinking from the truth-revealer showing that he had lied. He immediately pulled up his mental shields and the silver instrument clicked off in an instant.

Oh Merlin, he had totally lost it. He really would risk expulsion to save a life; he was turning into the Boy-Who-Continually-Lived. He had a sudden desire to burn every red and gold thing he came across, and turned back to Dumbledore with a very cold expression in his eyes. To his extreme annoyance, Dumbledore merely looked thoughtful, and then he smiled, his eyes twinkling in that infuriating manner.

"It was a good thing you did today, Mr. Malfoy," he said. "Fifty points to Slytherin and no doubt the Weasleys will write to thank you for protecting Ginevra."

Shit, Draco thought. That was just what he needed.

"And I suppose I should _not_ write a letter of congratulations for such a brave act to your father," said Dumbledore.

Merde.

His father.

He could feel the blood drain from his face, and he was pretty certain that he must have gone sheet white because Dumbledore suddenly looked concerned.

"Are you alright Draco?"

Draco pulled himself together at the sound of his first name. That must be the first time the Headmaster had used his first name.

"Quite," he said coolly. "And my father is involved in a few rather large projects for work at the moment, and so it would be best not to disturb him with trivial information."

"Understood," said Dumbledore, watching him with an intrigued look. Draco did not like the feel of those blue eyes on him; they were much too piercing.

"Is that all, Headmaster?" he asked, his voice frigid and exactly how Lucius sounded when he was dismissing Ministry officials and other various, inconsequential visitors.

"Of course," said the Headmaster. "You should probably rest up. You've had an eventful day."

Draco was up and leaving before the Headmaster even finished bidding him good day, his hands clenching and unclenching with frustration as he mentally swore at himself. Merlin, he was such an idiot. His father was going to have a fit. What was he thinking when he went to go play hero?

But he already knew the answer. He was thinking of Bill, and of his older brother. It was funny how the two sort of blended together now. Whenever he thought back on the older, illegitimate Malfoy, he had to consciously remember the blond hair, or else suddenly it was a red-headed teenager taking him to the zoo, and the eyes that sparkled as they ate ice cream along the French Riviera weren't bright blue, but hazel.

'_He's not your brother!'_ he yelled at his usually sharp memory. _Lukas is dead. He's been dead for nearly ten years now. _

The door opened out and he stepped out into the hall only to come face to face with none other than Bill Weasley. He did not need this right now.

"Dra-," Bill started, but Draco was already turning away and striding down the hall.

"Draco!" Bill called after him.

"Not now," he practically yelled over his shoulder, but Bill was following him, and as the teacher was taller, he was easily matching Draco's angry strides.

"What happened?" Bill asked, concern in his voice.

Draco cursed the Fates. Bill even sounded like an older brother would.

Bill's hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into an empty classroom before Draco could twist away. Bill shut the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Draco stared at him, then turned around, his hands still curling into fists. What he needed was to grab his broom and ride out this frustration. He was practically shaking with agitated energy and it was killing him to stand in a room like this. He didn't want to talk about it; he didn't even want to think about it.

"Draco," came Bill's voice.

"Your bloody sister isn't worth this," he spat, whirling around. "Do you want to know what Dumbledore asked me up there? He wanted to know if I wanted him to send a letter to Lucius describing my 'heroic' behavior." His voice was dripping with disdain and anger. "No doubt all of Slytherin wants to know what the hell I was thinking, saving a mudblood loving pauper like your sister. And what should I say? Oh, I just felt like pulling a Potter and fooling the Dark Lord's plans?"

He was hyperventilating slightly and he struggled to bring himself under control.

"You don't even look like him."

"Look like who?" asked Bill.

Merde! He had said that out loud. He was losing it; his world was falling apart piece by piece and there was nothing he could do but enjoy the view.

"Nothing," he said lamely. He looked down, staring at the floor, and then at Bill's dragon-scaled boots when Bill stepped forward into his line of vision.

Suddenly, there were arms around him and he found himself being pulled into an embrace. He stiffened instantly, pulling back slightly. What the hell?

"Thank you," said Bill. "For Ginny."

Oh. Draco stopped pulling back, though he remained tense through the whole encounter. Somehow the idea of someone's arms around him, leaving him vulnerable to be strangled, was not his notion of comfort. Bill seemed to sense that because he patted him once on the back and then pulled away, but oddly enough, Draco felt slightly better.

"You did good today, Draco," said Bill. "No matter what anyone says."

Draco nodded.

"Now, go to bed or something," said Bill. "You look exhausted."

Draco nodded again, and let Bill steer him to the door. Sleep sounded like an excellent idea. He avoided everyone down in the Slytherin dormitory and went straight to his bed, drawing the hangings and casting a silencing and darkening charm.

-------------------------------------------------------

Dumbledore had come up with a plan and outlined it to Bill. If the wards on the doors were broken, then others would fall into place around that hallway, trapping the dark creatures in that section of the dungeon. Although it seemed rather straight forward, there was still the threat that the secondary wards would not be put up quick enough to trap all of the creatures, as the spell Stevick would use to break the wards would have to be quite powerful, and the backlash of the magic might delay the other wards from being set up instantly. The teachers were warned that a Death Eater attack might take place just to keep them alert, and an emergency plan to get everyone into the Great Hall was instated.

And it turned out it wasn't a moment too soon, because on Saturday the alarm went off.

Bill had been heading to his room to grab a few papers to look over during lunch when the alarm went off, and he swore rather colorfully. If the secondary wards had gone up immediately, like they were supposed to, the alarm wouldn't have sounded. He pulled out his wand and started for the dungeons, running past frantic students who grew even more agitated at his sprint, but then the alarms shut down.

Bill skidded to a halt once the alarms went silent, and although he felt pulled in the direction of the students and wanted to do nothing more than to find his sister and make sure she was alright, he went for Dumbledore's office.

The gargoyles were functioning again, meaning that Bill had to give the password to the stone animals before the door slid open, and he stepped onto the moving staircase, straining to hear anything that might alert him to the presence of another person, but no one seemed to be sneaking into the Headmaster's office. He didn't know if he should be relieved or disappointed.

He reached the top of the stairs and was just about to open the office door, when it burst open and Stevick pulled up short at the sight of him, the trophy addressed to Tom Riddle clutched in his hands.

Bill froze for one second, which cost him dearly because Stevick barreled into him, knocking him backwards. He hit the stairs on his back and kept tumbling down, banging his head, now his knee and elbow in the process of trying to halt his movement, but he didn't completely stop until he hit the bottom and lay there stunned as Stevick jumped over him and out the door.

There was no way Bill was letting him get away with that. He urged his body into motion, scrambling to his feet and giving chase, his wand somehow still in his hand. One tripping hex later and Stevick was on the floor outside the Headmaster's office, the older professor's wand aimed at Bill and a dark curse spitting from the end of the stick.

Bill flung himself away from the red sparks, the curse missing him by inches. Stevick was firing another curse before Bill even had a chance to right himself, but then Kingsley Shacklebolt was there, dissipating the hex and disarming the teacher in the matter of a second. The Auror was then pulling Stevick up while binding him tightly with ropes.

Bill stared at the black Auror. "When did you-?" he asked.

"I had Kingsley put on an emergency beacon, in case the wards should fail," said Dumbledore arriving on the scene as well.

"Good thinking," said Bill, trying to access the damage from the fall down the stairs by flexing his muscles. He watched as Kingsley pulled up Stevick's left sleeve and spoke an anti-glamour charm. The Dark Mark appeared in all of its horror.

"The Dark Lord will rise again!" Stevick spat at all of them. He struggled in Kingsley's grip, but the Auror was incredibly strong and Stevick was helpless. "You bastards! He will strike you down and reward his loyal servants. All of you are damned!"

"Petrificus Totalis," said Kingsley calmly and the professor dropped to the floor, stiff as a board.

"Take him to his room for questioning," said Dumbledore, bending down to pick up the trophy. He handed the Horcrux to the Auror as well. "Hold onto that as well."

Kingsley nodded and just then there was a slight tremor from an explosion.

"It seems one of the trolls escaped," said Dumbledore, turning to Bill. "Let's go check on the students, shall we?"

They both started for the main halls, Bill breaking into a slight run as the headed for the main staircase where there was shouting. Above that he could hear a keening noise.

"That's a ghoul!" he called to the Headmaster behind him. A sudden inexplicable feeling of dread wrapped itself around his heart and he ran faster, Dumbledore calling something behind him, but he didn't hear it. His eyes had focused on the scene so far ahead.

Ginny was on the main staircase while students escaped to an empty classroom. She was helping a boy, then she was falling backwards, but scrambling to her feet as the ghoul shrieked. It was as if someone had turned off the volume. All he was aware of was Ginny staring up at the swooping ghoul, the talons reaching out to make her bleed the same color as her hair. There was another figure then, running towards Ginny with incredible speed, but it all seemed to happen so slowly.

The figure caught up his sister in one sweep, taking them from under the path of the ghoul, and spinning slightly to face the creature. Her rescuer called down a spell, but although his mouth moved, Bill couldn't hear what was said. The ghoul burst into flame and the figure was still spinning, covering Ginny from the fire.

Bill slowly felt his feet come to a halt by the staircase, staring at his sister who was alive and well in the arms of none other than Draco Malfoy. He couldn't see the kid's face, but he could see Ginny clinging to the boy, peeking over the edge of the black robe and then holding on closer. Draco pulled away, turning to face the dead ghoul, his face completely blank.

"Ginny."

He wasn't aware that he had spoken his sister's name until he heard his own voice, and once Ginny was in his arms, everything blinked back into normalcy.

"Oh Merlin," he whispered into her hair. "Don't scare me like that again, Gin. I swear I'll go grey."

She laughed, taking this into stride just like she took everything else. He knew why she was unflappable; he was the only one who knew. Ginny had told him one night in the summer after her third year.

_I've been possessed by Voldemort_, she had said, staring out at the stars with a pensive look on her face._ I've done evil things while 'under the influence' that no one should have to do. He showed me things no one should have to see and he whispered things in my ear that no one should have to hear. I'm not saying that I want to experience things like that again, but it was like a high that I came down from. Things that were once thrilling aren't anymore and facing death just isn't so much of a big deal when your very soul faced corruption and possession. It just isn't that scary anymore._

He went with her into the Great Hall where Ron and Harry were already waiting eagerly.

"Hey, Ginny!" called Ron. "Me and Harry took out a troll! Again. What happened?" he asked, frowning at Bill.

"Oh, you know," said Ginny, answering for her brother. "I was rescued from a dark ghoul by the hottest guy in school and I couldn't even give him a 'thank you' kiss."

"What?" asked Ron.

"Malfoy," said Ginny. "I don't think he would have really appreciated it."

The two gaped at her while she started explaining in full and Bill immediately began searching for the blond Slytherin, but the kid was no where to be found.

"Where's the bastard?" growled Ron once Ginny was finished. "I'll tear him to pieces; he was probably trying to feed you to the damn ghoul."

"He's in Dumbledore's office," said Ginny. "And he wasn't trying to feed me to the ghoul, he saved me."

"A Malfoy," said Ron. "Saved you?"

"I saw the whole thing," said Hermione, joining the group.

"You're serious," said Harry, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

"They can't be," said Ron.

Bill excused himself as the bickering started and left the Great Hall, heading up to the Headmaster's office. He had just reached the stone gargoyles when the door opened and Draco stepped out, halting at the sight of him.

"Dra-," Bill started, but the kid walked away, and when Bill tried to follow, he practically yelled at him.

Bill matched pace with Draco. There was obviously something bothering the kid because his eyes had been practically burning with intensity. Realizing that he wasn't going to get a straight answer without drastic measures, he pulled the kid into an empty classroom and leaned against the door.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and when Draco didn't answer, he simply watched. Upon closer examination, Draco was trembling slightly with pent-up emotion, and it was slightly frightening.

"Draco," he said.

Draco snapped. "Your bloody sister isn't worth this," he spat, whirling around. "Do you want to know what Dumbledore asked me up there? He wanted to know if I wanted him to send a letter to Lucius describing my 'heroic' behavior." His voice was dripping with disdain and anger. "No doubt all of Slytherin wants to know what the hell I was thinking, saving a mudblood loving pauper like your sister. And what should I say? Oh, I just felt like pulling a Potter and fooling the Dark Lord's plans?"

He didn't know what to say. He understood that what Draco had done had cost him more than his standing among the Slytherins, but Draco had faced the Slytherins before, what was so different this time? Draco visibly struggled to regain some control, though he slipped when he muttered the next sentence, more to himself then to Bill, anger and frustration marring his voice.

"You don't even look like him."

"Look like who?" asked Bill, genuinely confused.

Draco immediately clammed up, shutting down all of his emotion and glaring again.

"Nothing," he said, although his tone suggested that he knew it was a lame response. Bill didn't press the matter, watching as Draco averted his gaze to the floor.

He studied the kid for a minute, not knowing what to do. He had wanted to thank the teenager, but here was the Ice Prince of Slytherin, who had come a hair short of breaking completely a minute ago, staring at the floor like a lost, tired child. He felt a tug of sympathy and did what he would do for his brothers. He took a step forward and pulled the kid into a hug.

He could feel Draco pulling back slightly, and so he explained. "Thank you. For Ginny."

While Draco didn't relax at all, he did stop trying to break free, and merely stood there, back stiff and arms at his sides. Knowing that he was making the kid uncomfortable, Bill patted him once on the back and then moved back a step.

"You did good today, Draco," he said. "No matter what anyone says."

He watched as Draco nodded; the kid looked somewhat calmer.

"Now, go to bed or something," said Bill. "You look exhausted."

To his surprise, Draco let him steer him towards the door, and then slowly walked down the hall. Bill watched him until he turned down another hallway, then went to Stevick's room where Kingsley was watching the Death Eater, who was still petrified and lying on his bed.

McGonagall joined them a moment later.

"How is everything?" asked Bill.

"Two dark ghouls and a troll got out, but that was it," said McGonagall. "Sinistra and Flitwick managed to contain one ghoul, Harry and Ron took out the troll, and then Malfoy got the last ghoul, but you saw that."

"Lucius' son?" asked Kingsley, a look of confusion on his face.

Bill and McGonagall nodded.

"I thought he was practically a Death Eater already," said the Auror.

"Same here," said McGonagall grimly. "Who knows what the boy has up his sleeve. He's just as slippery as his father."

Bill stayed silent, though he wished he could jump to Draco's defense. Kingsley noticed his silence and shot him a questioning look, but then Dumbledore entered the room and closed the door behind him. Bill got a glimpse of Severus outside the door, but he knew that the spy couldn't come in. If Stevick was able somehow to get a message to Voldemort, the last thing they wanted the teacher to know was that Severus was indeed a double agent.

"Tell me, Bryant," said Dumbledore, turning to the prone Death Eater, "why?"

Kingsley took the charm off of the professor's mouth and immediately the insults flowed forth.

"Because the Dark Lord knows what this world needs," hissed Stevick, his face twisted into something truly ugly and his voice harsh and filled with hatred. "Our society has become corrupt with mudbloods and traitors like you. Our lord will wipe away the filth and the vermin and give reign to his followers. He is more powerful than any of you can imagine."

"But why you?" asked Dumbledore, almost pityingly.

"My brother was killed by a Muggle," Stevick spat. "He was an Auror trying to protect him from a rather bad wizard, but the Muggle shot him in the back so that he could escape. They don't deserve to exist. Sniveling cowards, the lot of them!"

"Who else is in Voldemort's regime?" asked Dumbledore.

Stevick glared. Dumbledore nodded to Kingsley, who forced the professor's jaws open and Dumbledore stepped forward, uncapping a vial of clear liquid. He placed three drops on Stevick's tongue and then Kingsley forced his mouth shut and held his nose until Stevick swallowed, completely out of breath. The Auror released the prisoner, who immediately gasped in air. It was Veritaserum.

"Who else have you seen in Voldemort's regime?" asked Dumbledore.

"I don't know," said Stevick, emotionlessly. "I never saw any faces."

"Can you name any Death Eaters?" asked Dumbledore.

"Malfoy, Nott, Lestrange, I don't know any others."

"What plans does Voldemort have?"

"Release the creatures in Hogwarts," said Stevick. "Take him the Horcrux."

"Was there anyone else involved in the plan?"

"Just one other."

"Who?"

"I can't say."

"Why not?" asked Dumbledore.

"Fidelius Charm."

Bill felt like swearing. It was apparent the teacher knew nothing, except for the name that was protected by a secret keeper, and Bill had a feeling that secret keeper was Voldemort.

Dumbledore sighed. "Look through his possessions, Kingsley, then take him to the Aurors." The Headmaster walked over to the Horcrux on the desk in the room and studied it, then raised his wand and brought it down in a large arc.

There was a blinding flash of red and the sound of a scream that seemed to issue from the trophy itself, and the Horcrux was blasted across the room, hitting the wall and falling to the ground. It was misshapen and deformed, and it seemed to lose all of its luster.

"Relatively easy," said Dumbledore, picking the trophy up and examining it slowly. "It was his first Horcrux, I believe." He motioned for Bill and McGonagall to follow him and they left the room, joining Severus who was waiting outside.

"He knows nothing," Dumbledore told Snape. "The Horcrux is destroyed; no doubt Tom will call you tonight. I don't think he'll be in the best of moods, and he might be even more distrustful towards you."

"I'll tell him that Stevick failed to release all of the wards and didn't disable the alarm," Snape said.

"Still," said Dumbledore, "be careful."

"I will," Snape promised.

"Good," said Dumbledore. "Now, let's go check the damage to the school."

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Wellllll, what did you think? Let me know by leaving a review!


	25. Rule 22: If you must go and play hero

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own the chocolate bar that is melting in this infernal heat which is making it rather hard to eat it.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Most of you know I usually reply to reviews right before I put up the next chapter, well, not anymore, just because it takes a while to do that in one sitting, so I will reply pretty much as soon as I get your reviews. This way, you're not getting a reply the day after you review and go looking for a new chapter and getting disappointed that there isn't one. One other thing, the wait was long for this chapter, and it probably will be for the next chapter as well because of stupid finals. If you are angry, perhaps you could take it up with my professors, lol.

**Chicklepea**: Woot! Cookies. And as for D/G, not in this story, but because so many people want it D/G, and because I'm liking the idea more and more, D/G in the sequel, (if/when I write one)  
**Kely5**: Thanks for the review, and no romance in this story, but maybe a sequel  
**E-san**: Sorry about the wait, but I'm in the middle of finals. Thanks for reviewing and I'm glad you like the story  
**Gremlin**: the plot doth thicken, indeed, thanks for the review!  
**Mask**: Yes, thank you, I am. See you soon, babe.  
**Slickslytherin**: Yeah, the wait was long, but finals are evil! lol  
**Dbi626**: thanks for the review, and yes, more will be explored with the complicated relationship of Draco and Lucius  
**To my amazing beta, Thank You!**

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Chapter 25

_Rule twenty-two: If you must go and play hero, make sure someone else gets the credit._

Draco found that he had to do very little explaining to the Slytherins about just exactly why he had chosen to save Ginevra Weasley. Of course, the fact that the spell he had used took an extreme amount of power helped with the intimidation factor, but because the curse was so close to being Dark Magic and because he had gotten away with it, the Slytherins seemed to be more impressed with him than worried that Draco might have gone soft.

Just to quash the few rumors that had broken out (mainly spread by Nott), Draco let it be known that after the ghoul was through with the Weasley girl, it was most likely going for him next, and his best chance at destroying it was early on when he had a clean shot. Besides, ghouls gained strength by eating, and the last thing he wanted was to face an energized dark spirit. Nott said nothing more because sometimes looking out for yourself meant inadvertently helping others.

That did not mean that Draco was thrilled to discover an ancient, frail owl heading his way during breakfast the day after. He looked on in genuine disgust as the bedraggled, sickened owl collapsed on the table in front of him. All of Slytherin was silent, staring at the creature, and the rest of the Great Hall slowly stopped their speculations about the events of the day before and slowly turned to see Draco's reaction.

With his face the picture of condescension, Draco carefully reached out and plucked the letter from the owl's twitching leg, making a show of not touching the creature to the snickers of his house. His name was written on the front in a pleasant, round script. He nimbly unsealed the letter and skimmed it over, then read it again, keeping his face impassive and guarded.

_To Mr. Draco Malfoy,  
I understand from my son Bill, your Ancient Runes professor, that during an attack on Hogwarts you saved my daughter's life while at great risk to yourself. While nothing I can do can repay the debt we now owe to you, I felt that at the very least I could send you this note of thanks, from myself and the entire Weasley family. Thank you.  
Molly Weasley_

It was by far the nicest letter he had ever received, and he hated the faintly pleased feeling the words invoked. He stood abruptly and walked over to the Gryffindor table where Ron Weasley sat, his face scarlet with a mixture of rage and embarrassment. All of the students tracked his progress, waiting for the encounter with baited breath and much whispering.

"I assume that pathetic creature would be your family owl, Weasley?" he asked scornfully.

"And if it is?" asked Ron, belligerently.

Draco tossed the letter onto their table, glaring at the lot of them.

"Tell your mother to keep her thanks to herself," he sneered. "Merlin knows you can't afford to give away anything."

Ron jumped to his feet, and no doubt the incident was going to turn extremely ugly, when the door burst open, and a woman came forward escorted by Professor Sprout. She went straight to a curly-haired child at the Hufflepuff table.

"Teddy, go pack your things," she said. "You're leaving."

"But Mum!" the child protested.

"Don't talk back, Teddy. It's much too dangerous for you here. I practically fainted at the Daily Prophet article that was released last night. Mrs. Reblan and Mr. Thatcher will be pulling out Rowan and Hester as well later this afternoon, so you're not the only one." The woman nodded at the child's friends, who looked disappointed but also a little fearful.

Flitwick came into the room then as well, with two other parental figures in tow who went to collect their children at the Ravenclaw table.

"They're leaving?" he heard Potter ask incredulously, but then the morning post came. Draco's own personal delivery owl flew right to him and Draco took the paper, reading the main headline with a raised eyebrow.

**"Monsters released in Hogwarts by Death Eater Spy!"**

It was then that Dumbledore entered the room and stood at his position at the Head Table, clearing his voice to get everyone's attention.

"Good morning," he said pleasantly, as if two dark ghouls and a troll had not just attacked the school. "As many of you know, because secrets travel faster than bad news in this school, several dangerous creatures were released from inside the school yesterday. I am happy to report that you all behaved in an exemplary manner during the crisis, so that there were no casualties besides a few bumps and bruises. Not only did you students defend yourselves against such creatures, you also protected each other, even at the risk of personal injury."

Dumbledore paused to have his eyes twinkle annoyingly in Draco's direction and he glared.

Rule twenty-two: If you _must_ go and play hero, make sure someone else gets the credit.

Dumbledore merely smiled and continued.

"It is now my regret to inform you exactly why these creatures were released. It seems that the Ministry was very much fooled when they appointed us our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Professor Stevick was not only responsible for the attacks of yesterday, but also for the two attacks on the Quidditch pitch. He is a follower of Voldemort and has been taken to Azkaban for questioning."

There were gasps and whispers all around.

"Stevick? A Death Eater?"

"How did he fool the Ministry?"

"Death Eater? No way!"

"Grand. My mum's going to flip. She already didn't want me here in the beginning of the year."

Draco stayed silent as the Headmaster continued. "For those students who have parents who wish to take them out of the school, your belongings will be packed by the house elves and there are carriages waiting outside to take you to the train station. We here at Hogwarts wish you the best of luck and hope to see you when things calm down. On a happier note, it is my pleasure to inform you all that Professor Lupin will be returning to finish up the term as our Defense Professor."

Draco resisted the urge to clamp his hands over his ears as the Gryffindor table burst into deafening cheers, the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students also applauding. Only the Slytherin table looked unhappy, glaring at the others and frowning. He frowned as well. While Stevick had tried to destroy the entire school, Lupin was tight with the Gryffindors and Draco was not looking forward to DADA.

Sure enough, Lupin arrived that afternoon. Draco was going to library when he passed the entrance hall to see the werewolf surrounded by Potter, Granger, Weasley and the Weaselette who were all wondering how he had been. Even Bill was there, and Draco glowered at that and then continued his trek towards the library.

It was even worse in DADA. Those sixth years who were taking the NEWT DADA classes (which was the majority of the sixth years) were all in the same class, and three-fourths of them were all congratulating Lupin on his return, to which he smiled nicely and thanked them. He hadn't changed much, besides the fact that he looked somewhat older. His clothes were still worn, though neat, and his manner just as soft spoken, but his eyes were darker, sadder. Draco remembered that Sirius Black had died last year and that Lucius had told him that Black and Lupin used to be close.

He vaguely wondered how Black had died. He knew it had been sometime during the attack on the Ministry when Lucius had been captured by the Aurors, but he had never heard the whole story.

"Dementors," said Lupin, finally getting the class settled down. "Who can tell me about them?"

Draco had to admit that he was a good teacher, something that irked him, but he took solace in the fact that he didn't have to learn anything. He already knew it.

"Correct, Hermione," said Lupin, after she rattled off a text book reply. "Five points to Gryffindor. Can anyone tell me how dementors breed?"

Beside him Pansy rolled her eyes as Hermione raised her hand again, but to be fair, Lupin called on Blaise instead, who earned five points for his house as well.

"Dementors are found on the island prison of Azkaban," said Lupin, "and they are under control of the Ministry."

The Slytherins, including Draco, snorted at that. The dementors, as of late, were anything but under control of the Ministry.

They received glares from the other students, who were hanging onto Lupin's every word, and they glared right back in response. Lupin continued, ignoring all of them.

"While no defense against a dementor is easy, the most common one used is the Patronus charm. Each Patronus has a different form that it takes on, personalized for each original caster. To properly work the Patronus, it is important to first think of a very happy memory and then say the words 'Expecto Patronum'. Let's all try to say it together then."

Draco rolled his eyes as the class dutifully repeated the words.

"Excellent," said Lupin. "Now, we will try casting the charm, so everyone up and to the left wall. Remember, think of your happiest memory."

The class eagerly got to their feet and headed to the wall so that they would all cast in the same direction and not at each other.

"Once you have your happy memory, try to cast," said Lupin.

To Draco's surprise, quite a few people cast the charm successfully first time. Lupin looked surprised as well so Hermione spoke up.

"We had a defense club last year," she said. "This was one of the charms we learned."

Ah, yes, the defense club. Draco smirked slightly when he remembered the events leading up to their capture. Yes, he hated Umbridge, but he couldn't resist turning in the Golden Trio.

"Well, then," said Lupin. "I am impressed. You must have had a wonderful teacher."

Draco felt like gagging at the overly sweet compliment to Potter, who merely blushed as the other members of the DA all smiled at the boy hero.

"Well then, those of you who know how to cast the charm, please help those who do not."

The class resumed trying to cast the charm, this time though the room was full of quite instruction, although none of it was directed to the Slytherins. Lupin made up for it by coming across the room to help them himself. Draco ignored the werewolf and instead looked around the room at all of the animals. There was a surprising range of animals, horses, lions, a snake, a hawk, a otter (from Granger), two unicorns, a dolphin, a penguin, and various other animals.

"Mr. Malfoy," said Lupin, getting his and the rest of the class's attention. "Would you at least try the charm?"

"Don't see the point," said Draco.

"And what are you going to do if a dementor attacks you?" asked the teacher.

"Infusco accendo," said Draco, shrugging slightly, as if he didn't just mention a dark curse.

The class burst into whispers; Lupin frowned slightly.

"That curse is illegal, Mr. Malfoy," said Lupin reprovingly.

"So is a dementor attack, so I can't be tried," said Draco.

"Today we are learning about the Patronus though," said Lupin. "You need to at least attempt the charm." His gaze was level and unmoving so Draco sighed.

"Expecto Patronum," he said listlessly, waving his wand even more indolently. Nothing happened but Lupin smiled at him.

"Thank you for cooperating Mr. Malfoy," he said. "Is anyone else having trouble?"

There was silence so the teacher continued.

"Before you leave, I would like you all to remember that conjuring a Patronus now and conjuring one when you face a dementor are two incredibly different things. To demonstrate this, I have secured the help of Harry, whose Boggart is a dementor. Now I wish you all to stay where you are, and when the dementor forms, try to cast the charm."

Lupin walked over to a trunk on the floor in the front of the room and Harry joined him, looking slightly pale behind his glasses. Lupin counted down, and opened the lid.

Immediately the room dropped twenty degrees and a cold feeling seemed to dissipate into Draco's veins. A scaly hand reached up from the trunk and the dementor slowly rose. Students shivered.

"Cast the charm," said Lupin, and the students tried to conjure up their animals, but none came.

Draco could feel the cold seeping in, his mind flashing back to his worst memories. Lying on his bed, screaming at his father for not giving him the drugs while he convulsed. The funeral where Draco choked and shuddered, unable to cry. His brother falling with the smile-

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry shouted. A stag burst from his wand, charging the dementor and sending him back into the trunk. The room seemed to brighten and students gasped and gulped in the warm air.

"Now that you know what to expect," said Lupin. "Let's try it one more time."

No, Draco wanted to say. He didn't want to see his brother die again, but the trunk was already opening.

The cold didn't just seep in that time; it hit them all with all the force of the Hogwarts Express. He could see Lukas, laughing. Falling. The smile still on his face, though his eyes were vacant. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run forward, to catch his brother, as if that would make it all better, but he couldn't move, and his brother was falling, falling, fal - His mind shot to the warm memory of the zoo in France with Lukas, and he was moving before he consciously decided to.

"Expecto Patronum!"

The shout tore from his throat. He was standing a few steps away from the wall, his wand pointed at the dementor.

The dragon erupted from his wand, its jaws open and snarling, showing wickedly sharp teeth made of silver. The powerful wings only had to beat once, and then it was there at the dementor, forcing it back into the trunk, and then lapping the room once more before slowly dissipating.

Draco realized that the entire class was staring at him and that he was shaking slightly, his wand still pointed where the dementor was. He slowly lowered his wand and took in a deep breath to steady himself, wanting to do nothing more than to find the nearest toilet and throw up into it.

He glared at them all and then stalked back to his seat to pack up his things, his fingers fumbling with the clasps on his bag. Class was nearly out.

"Fifteen points to Slytherin," said Lupin. "That was quite an impressive Patronus, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco didn't respond and then the bell rang, signaling the end of class.

"An essay on the Patronus charm for Friday," said Lupin. "A foot and a half. For those of you who need it, I have chocolate on my desk."

Draco left the room.

He went back after dinner when the room was deserted; he had a sick fascination with Boggarts. He even conversed with his on occasion, though he hadn't seen one in two years. The house-elves back at the Manor had found the one he kept in the music room organ bench.

He silently unlocked the door and then shut it behind him, lighting the lamps in the room with a wave of his wand. He walked over to the trunk and then spelled open the lid and waited. His Boggart always liked to make an entrance.

Slowly, the figure sat up, lying one hand lightly on the side of the trunk, before gracefully standing and stepping out, right up in Draco's face. And Draco stared back at himself.

"Long time, no see," he told the Boggart who looked like him, or rather, who would have looked like him, if not for the haggard face, the frightening glint in unsteady grey eyes, and the maniacal smile hovering on the pale lips. They were dressed differently as well. The Boggart-him had on deep red velvet robes that were so fashionable, they were gaudy, though he pulled it off rather well and only looked eccentric and flashy.

"And you still haven't conquered the world," said his doppelganger. "Pity. I have."

"You have in my nightmares," said Draco. "It's not real."

"Don't you mean to say 'I have in my nightmares'? Because I am you, or rather what you could be. Lord Draco, ruler of England. I think you could do it."

Draco raised his eyebrow at Lord Draco. "I know I could do it," he said. "That's why you are my Boggart. If I couldn't take over England, it wouldn't be something to fear."

"Your deepest fear," corrected Lord Draco, stepping back and swaying slightly, the grey eyes unfocused.

"You're high again," said Draco.

"Correction," said Lord Draco, a triumphant grin on his face, "_you_ are high. You're always high. High and drunk, like mother-dearest. Merlin, she knew how to live."

"Before I killed her, of course," said Draco.

"Naturally," said Lord Draco. "Don't you want to? To kill her? Look at what she did to you, to Lucius."

"Killed him too, remember?" asked Draco.

"Oh, yeah," said Lord Draco. "You did kill him. Him and…," here the Boggart paused, searching for another fear. "Bill!" Lord Draco said delightedly. "You killed him too!"

Draco felt a sick feeling in his stomach, though whether it was from the idea that killing Bill was one of his greatest fears or from the fact that he knew he could kill him, he didn't know.

"I was afraid that would be a new development," he muttered. Lord Draco burst into laughter, crazed laughter, spinning around so that his robes twirled as well, revealing black silk pants tucked into brown leather boots with slight heels.

"Of course you are afraid of that!" he giggled, stopping his spin and putting his hands over his mouth. "That's why I brought it up!"

"You used to be so much more fun to converse with," said Draco, studying 'himself' critically. Years of being on drugs and alcohol had caused his – other – frame to become skinny and stretched and red rimmed his grey eyes. What was the most disturbing however, was the fact that a part of him actually wanted to become Lord Draco.

Draco liked power. He liked being the one to hold the reigns, not only because he was a Slytherin and a Malfoy and the feeling of power was a rush, but because he honestly thought he could do better than those fools in the Ministry now. He was a genius after all. However, he was genius enough to know that power has a bad habit of corrupting people. Just look at his Boggart. He had taken over England, and then killed his mother and father, along with countless others.

"That was be-before you became so afraid of potions," said Lord Draco, hiccupping slightly and swaying again before he sat heavily down on a spare chair. "It's nice, you know. I feel so good. I have no worries, no concerns. _You_ know what it's like."

"Yes, I do," said Draco.

"You want some," said Lord Draco, leaning in and whispering in his ear. "You want some so badly sometimes." The Boggart reached up to lay a hand on his shoulder, but his sleeve fell down revealing the Dark Mark branded on white flesh. Draco stared at it, thinking about the summer coming up.

"Don't stare," said Lord Draco. "Besides, after you got it, you made it possible for Harry Potter to finish Voldemort off."

"Don't remind me," said Draco. He hated hearing about how he could take over England, because it had actually been a plan when he was younger.

"I'm supposed to," said Lord Draco, giggling again. "I'm your deepest fear, remember? Besides, isn't that why you pull me out and talk to me? To 'remind' yourself?" It was said sarcastically.

"Maybe I'm just insane," said Draco.

"You are," said Lord Draco. "At least, I am, so you are afraid of going nuts with your genius. I kill, you know. Almost everyday. People just don't understand!" The last was said in a shout. Lord Draco jumped to his feet, pacing about the room, his voice raw and choked up. "I don't want to kill them, sometimes, but I have to, just so people follow me. And sometimes, sometimes it feels so good! They look up at me with their big eyes, pleading, begging me. And I laugh, because I love it so."

Lord Draco trailed off into the afore mentioned laughter, taking a vial of purple and silver swirled liquid out of his pocket and downing it. His eyes went slightly dark.

"You want some?" he asked Draco.

Draco felt the familiar urge to snatch it, and drink it, but it wasn't real, he knew that. Besides, he didn't want to become like this.

"Oh, that's right," said Lord Draco. "You quit." He smothered a laugh with his fingers over his mouth, and then Draco heard a voice that was not his.

"Draco?"

Draco whirled around to see Bill Weasley standing in the doorway, a puzzled look on his face. Draco sighed.

"If you are going to come in, would you close the door?" he asked, knowing that he would have to explain this.

Bill did so, looking at his clone, who was staring curiously back at the Professor with the maniacal grin on his face.

"Aren't you going to introduce us, Draco?" asked Lord Draco.

"Lord Draco," said Draco, "this is Bill, my Ancient Runes professor. Bill, this is Lord Draco, my Boggart."

"Well, I'm not his exactly," said Lord Draco, swaying again. "I'm actually no ones Boggart, I'm just his manifestation of his biggest fear."

Bill looked between the two. "Lord Draco?" he questioned.

"I took over the world!" exclaimed Lord Draco, twirling around again in giddiness. He stumbled and Draco caught him, holding onto his arm until he had his balance.

"Thank you," said Lord Draco. "You're an alright sort of chap, even if you haven't taken over the world yet."

"I thought I took over England," said Draco.

"We're working on the rest," said Lord Draco. "I found these amazing things called nuclear bombs and I'm really optimistic."

"So this is your deepest fear?" said Bill. "To become a drunk with bad fashion sense?"

"Hey! I resent that!" said Lord Draco. He swayed again. "I think I'll let you explain," he said in a mock whisper to Draco.

Draco sighed again, sitting on a table as Bill did as well, though keeping far away from Lord Draco who was beginning to twirl again.

"I actually did take over England," said Draco. "Well, at least I did from where he's standing. I took the Dark Mark, but then played both sides, tricking Voldemort into getting killed by Potter. Then, once everyone thought that I was reformed and all, I ran for economic assistant for the Minister of Magic. I killed Potter along the way because he was the only one more popular than me, blaming it on a group of uncaught Death Eaters. I then dated Hermione Granger for a while, just because as she was the most prominent Muggle-born witch, I could insure my own popularity. She was, most unfortunately, strangled in her sleep and the blame was placed on jealous boyfriend Ron Weasley, who I challenged to a duel and killed."

Bill looked shaken at that, staring at him with something faintly reminiscent of horror.

"Once the Golden Trio was out of the way, I was the only real war hero left besides various Aurors and Dumbledore. Dumbledore dies of old age, and no one detects the poison in his morning cup of pumpkin and apple juice. Gradually, I am elected to vice Minister and then a scandal involving smuggled funds gets the Minister kicked out and I take over. Then, I gradually invoke more and more restrictions, purely because there are 'attacks' by the escaped Death Eaters. Those attacks are of my own making and the wizarding world, grateful that I do not discriminate against Mudbloods, gladly accepts the new laws."

Lord Draco toppled over, pulled another vial out of his pocket and drained it. Draco watched himself for a moment and then turned back to Bill.

"I gradually dissolve the board of governors, and then appease the crowd by publicly executing my father who is supposedly responsible for all of the attacks. Then I dissolve the board of representatives after I have captured the rest of the Death Eaters, which include my staunchest enemies on the political floor. Once they are dead, I gain full control, kill my mother because I hate her, and slowly become hooked on illegal potions and other drugs."

"And now we're taking over the world," said Lord Draco from the floor. "And I kill Bill too. You forgot that one."

Draco glared at Lord Draco, but Lord Draco blathered on.

"It's a new development," he told the professor seriously, "the one where I kill you. That's why he forgot, but he really is a genius."

Bill stared at him, or it rather. He turned to Draco.

"You put a lot of thought into this?" he asked.

Draco shrugged. "I used to entertain myself when I was home alone about how to take over England," he said. "When I actually came up with a viable plan and realized it was possible, my Boggart turned into this."

"I used to be dark," said Lord Draco. "You know, night time. He used to be terrified of the dark, but he's not anymore. I'm all grown up now, you see."

"Alright," said Draco. "Time for you to go away."

Lord Draco stared at him; Draco winced. It always got ugly at this part.

"Don't you want some Angel-Flight?" he asked.

"No," said Draco firmly.

"You're lying. You've been wanting it since you were thirteen."

"You need to go now."

"I'm ruler of England!" Lord Draco screamed. "You can't tell me what to do. I have the power; you have the power!"

"No, I don't," said Draco.

"You want it! You want the power just like Voldemort."

"But I want more _not _to have it."

"You're a liar!"

"No, Lord Draco. You are the liar. Get back in the trunk."

Lord Draco glared but begrudgingly got in the trunk and Draco closed it and turned the key. He turned back to Bill and sat back down, his fingers tapping out their pattern as he stared at the floor.

"Why didn't you use 'riddikulus'?" asked Bill finally.

"It's not really funny," said Draco. "I haven't found a way yet to make it humorous, besides, I don't really laugh."

"So, how do you get it to go away?"

"Facing your fears is just as good, if not better than, laughing at them," said Draco. "It's the same concept; it just doesn't have a spell to say along with it."

Bill looked slightly intrigued, but then he got serious again. "When you were planning how to rule the world-," he began.

"I was younger," said Draco, cutting him off, wanting to explain so that he didn't look quite so evil. "And it was always just for fun, for entertainment. Then, when I figured out that my plans were actually feasible, I was afraid that I might actually do it and Lord Draco was created and gradually all the people I could kill worked out into this huge plan of his. What he said, about his plan, that's him talking. He explained it to me a few summers back."

"I understand," said Bill, "but that wasn't what I was going to ask."

"Oh," said Draco, surprised. "Then you're not…freaked out about Lord Draco?"

Bill shrugged. "Boggarts represent our deepest fears. The fact that you are afraid of turning out like that makes me believe you will never do something like that. I admit, it's a little unnerving at first, but it doesn't change anything."

Draco stared at him, shocked that he wasn't running away in terror. "Thanks," he said quietly.

"What I was going to ask," said Bill, "was that when you were younger and plotting to take over the world, you weren't afraid of becoming an addict. What happened?"

"Just watching Narcissa, I guess," said Draco, shrugging slightly and lying completely.

"Lord Draco offered you some," said Bill. "Said you've been wanting it since you were thirteen. I know what Angel-Flight is. That's not a drug to mess around with."

Draco hesitated, not knowing if he wanted to reveal something that personal with the Professor.

"My Boggart is Ginny dead," said Bill. "When she was born, my mum was pretty sick, and so I took care of her. I feel responsible for her, always have, always will."

"Explains why you flip when people talk about her," said Draco, remembering the row they had a few weeks back.

"Yeah," said Bill, flushing slightly.

"Just because you tell something personal doesn't mean I have to as well," said Draco.

"I'm not saying it does," said Bill. "I just felt you should know that I trust you with that."

Draco silently sighed, but explained. "I was thirteen," he said. "Narcissa was having some men over for a party, but because it was summer, I was home. Usually she would just lock me in my suite and I would hang out there, but she recently found out that I knew how to escape from my rooms. So, one night at dinner she put a vial of Angel-Flight in my juice. I got hooked and spent the next eight days high on premium-aged Flight. So high I couldn't even move."

"Shit," said Bill.

Draco smirked at that. "Pretty much," he said. "Lucius came home on the ninth day and found me like that. He pulled me off it, spent the next weeks getting me through rehab by himself. I was pretty messed up, screaming and cursing. He had to tie me down for a bit because I was attacking him and trying to get out, to get more. It took two weeks until I was finally aware of what was going on and back in control of my body. It took another week until I could eat by myself, another two until I could walk unaided. Two weeks later and I was self-sufficient again, but he stayed until the end of summer, but I still had cravings that year, even now sometimes. Supposedly that sort of drug can cause migraines and insomnia if the user is still a child."

"Is that why-?" asked Bill.

Draco shrugged. "Don't know," he said.

"I suppose you don't want me to say you have my sympathy about that, do you?" asked Bill.

Draco shook his head.

"Well, then, you have my deepest respect," said Bill, "for turning out as well as you did."

Draco looked up at that, not expecting that kind of response. Bill was smiling slightly.

"And," Bill continued, "although I will never like your father, he did a good thing helping you and while I still wish you had a better parental figure, I promise not to say anything degrading about him again."

Draco smiled at that. "Thank you," he said, sincerely.

"No problem," said Bill. "Now go to bed. It's getting late."

"It's not late," said Draco, but he pushed himself off the table and to the door. "Good night, Bill."

"Night, Draco," said the Professor and Draco left the room.

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Bill didn't move from the classroom after Draco left, still trying to process everything that had happened. He discovered that Draco had a Boggart that he liked to talk to; a Boggart that was apparently a druggie but also trying for ruling the world, and that Lucius Malfoy wasn't the worst of fathers in the world.

That one was even more shocking than the Boggart. Bill tried to imagine the cold-blooded murderer holding a thirteen year old Draco and caring for him, helping him to eat and walk again. He shook his head after a while to clear it. He got a headache just thinking about it. No wonder the subject of Lucius was such an issue with Draco; he had most likely seen both sides of his father and was trying to reconcile them, something that Bill didn't think could be done.

The Boggart thumped a bit in the trunk and Bill glanced at it. The fact that Draco feared his power more than he desired to use it spoke volumes about his character, and not for the first time, Bill wondered what the other teachers would say if they knew this other side of Draco. They loved to tell horror stories about the blond, and discuss what they would do if they were put in charge of him, but Bill had a feeling that all Draco really needed was to get out on his own, away from all of the reasons that would make him turn out like Lucius, and someone to talk to.

He let his mind drift for a bit, but then there was a sharp pain on his arm. Voldemort was calling.

Bill was running out the dungeon door in two minutes time, the invisibility cloak over his body. He wondered why Voldemort hadn't called the Death Eaters yesterday, when Stevick's attack failed. Voldemort would have no doubt felt the destruction of the Horcrux.

He met Snape outside the wards and the two Apparated together, back into the clearing that Voldemort seemed so fond of. A figure was conversing with Voldemort, or rather Voldemort was glaring and the figure was cringing, though Bill could not tell what they were saying. Snape joined the other Death Eaters who maintained a respectful distance away, but Bill crept closer, not worrying about a shadow because it was dusk outside and too dark to see a shadow.

"I will not fail you again," the figure promised, bowing.

Bill inwardly cursed. Their conversation was obviously over and from the looks of it, the conversation had been important because Voldemort had called this person for a private meeting.

"For your sake," said Voldemort, "I hope you do not. Now go join the others."

The figure bowed again, and Bill noticed the smear of blood on the white mask, and decided if would be best if he could figure out who the mysterious Death Eater was for a hint to what the conversation was about. He took his position on the outskirts of the group, listening in carefully.

"Severus!" the Dark Lord commanded. "Come forward and tell me why my attack at Hogwarts failed."

Bill watched as the Potions Master fearlessly broke from the group of Death Eaters and walked forward, bowing low and kissing the hem of Voldemort's robe.

"Milord," he said, his voice a blend of humility and hurt. "If I had known of your plan, it would have succeeded."

"Crucio!" said Voldemort, his red eyes glowing with anger.

Snape fell the rest of the way to the ground from his kneeling position, writhing and convulsing slightly though no noise escaped his lips save a slight grunt. The curse ended and he slowly pulled himself back to his kneeling position.

"I did not tell you of my plan for a reason, Severus," said Voldemort. "So that you would not tell Dumbledore, but it seems that he was expecting an attack. Explain that."

"He did not know of the attack," said Severus. "The wards were not fully dropped which is why not all of the creatures were unleashed."

"You lie!" hissed Voldemort.

"No," said Snape. "I would not lie to you. You are my lord and I am your servant. I have proved my loyalty to you time and time again. I serve you, Master. You know this."

Bill wondered how Snape could do it. The idea of professing such words to Voldemort made him gag.

Voldemort bent slightly, pulling off Severus' mask and tipping his chin up to stare him deeply in the eyes, obviously performing Legilimency on the spy. Bill had been taught Occlumency by the Potions Master and he knew how strong Snape's mind was, but to actually look Voldemort in the eye and lie was nothing short of astounding.

Apparently satisfied Voldemort stepped back and Severus pitched forward, catching himself on his hands, making no move to rise but gasping for breath and struggling to compose himself.

Voldemort turned to several other Death Eaters and was just about to say something when all of a sudden a burning Dark Mark shot into the sky from the middle of the woods. That was the warning signal that the Aurors had arrived.

Voldemort disappeared with the sound of a gun shot and a Death Eater stepped forward.

"Cover the tracks!" he ordered, and Bill recognized the voice of Lucius Malfoy.

The Death Eaters scrambled to obey, casting anti-tracking spells and other charms to cover up any magical signatures, and that's when it happened.

Bill was hovering on the outskirts of the clearing, well away from any of the scurrying Death Eaters, but not enough out of the way as a Death Eater tripped on a root and went sprawling straight into his invisible form. Bill's wand was jarred out of his hand, hitting the ground and rolling out from underneath the cloak.

The Death Eater fell backwards, staring up in his direction and then at the wand on the grass.

Bill's heart gave a jump and before consciously thinking about it, he was in action, running for his wand and scooping it up while the Death Eater behind him let loose a yell.

"There's a spy! He has an invisibility cloak!"

Shit, Bill thought as he ran for the woods, only to have his way cut off by a barrage of spells cast in his general direction.

"Accio invisibility cloak!" thundered a voice above all the others. That was Lucius Malfoy and he cursed the man for being so smart, even as he grabbed onto the material as it began to slide off of him, muttering his own counter-charm.

He was so wrapped up in the spell that he ran straight into another Death Eater and they both went tumbling to the ground.

No doubt he would have been discovered at that moment, but then the Aurors finally broke through the trees and immediately the Death Eaters' attention was focused on the charging, highly trained wizards. Bill rolled over, only to find the Death Eater he had knocked into right beside him, and his dragon-scale boots were uncovered by the cloak. The Death Eater stared at the boots for a second and then started for his wand. Bill Apparated back to the forest outside of Hogwarts, but not before he noticed the blood on the Death Eater's mask. It was the Death Eater Voldemort had been talking to.

He walked back into the castle, pulling off the invisibility cloak when he reached Dumbledore's office. The gargoyle moved without him even having to say the password; Dumbledore had no doubt seen him coming. He entered the office without even a nod to the Headmaster and sat down in one of the armchairs, feeling suddenly weary.

"What happened?" asked Dumbledore.

"I'm discovered," said Bill. "No one saw my face, but they know there was a spy in their midst." He related the events while Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"I knew that Stevick had been interrogated," said Dumbledore when he was finished, "but I did not know that the Aurors had found anything to let them know where the meeting was going to be. Tom's followers do not know the name of the location they are Apparating to; they only know what it looks like. Nothing more, nothing less."

"I'm glad they did," said Bill. "I honestly think I would have been dead otherwise."

"I'm glad they were there too, my boy," said Dumbledore.

The door opened and Snape came in, slightly disheveled from the fight, and rather pale still from the 'crucio'.

"Are you well?" he asked Bill curtly.

"Fine," said Bill, nodding.

"You will not be going back anymore." It was both a statement and a question.

"No," Bill affirmed. "I'm done."

Severus gave a slight nod, accepting the cup of strong tea from the Headmaster and sitting gracefully in the chair next to Bill. It was not a grace like Draco was graceful, thought Bill idly, accepting his own mug of tea from Dumbledore. Snape was like a panther stalking his prey with a measured, intimidating motion. Draco was more like water, completely unassuming in the fluidity of his motions so that many times people hardly even noticed how elegantly he moved.

"We'll undo the ritual and give back the bit of mark to Severus," said Dumbledore, sitting back down at his desk. "I still have some potion left, that's all it should take."

Bill hesitated. "Doesn't it help the pain when I have a bit of it?" he asked the Potions Master.

"Of course it does," said Snape irritably. "Only when Voldemort starts calling all of us in and starts examining our marks more thoroughly, I think that extra bit of pain might save me a bunch more."

"Do you really think he would be able to tell?" asked Bill.

Snape made a slight face of disgust. "I wouldn't put it past him," he said.

"It's settled then," said Dumbledore. "I'll go get the potion, and you, Bill, will be officially retired from spy work."

It was a nice feeling, Bill decided some hours later as he settled into bed, to be completely done with flirting with death every time Voldemort called. He looked down at his left arm. The skin was smudged slightly with black, as if a little bit of the evilness had managed to mark him too. Dumbledore promised that the faint stain would go away with time and if it didn't, a tattoo-removing potion would get it off easily.

He blew out the candle beside his bed and drifted off.

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In the next chapter, someone gets captured by Voldemort! Please review if you're excited!


	26. Rule 23: In times of political unrest

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own a bunch of reviewers who are angry at me for not updating sooner. Please read the authors note.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm awfully sorry it took me so long to update. It's been pretty crazy over here, what with finishing finals and moving back home. The good news is that the other chapters should be up pretty quickly.

Rachel: You have been very patient. I'm very sorry.Chicklepea: lol, hey, I'm slightly sadistic as well (hello, Lord Draco taking over the earth and finding nuclear weapons?) anyway, sorry it took me so long to update, but I promise quicker updates here on out  
Beccaboo991: I'm glad you liked the Boggart part, I wasn't sure how people would respond, thanks for reviewing  
Mask: He's an eccentric dictator; he can wear black pants and brown boots if he wants  
Kely5: I was originally thinking D/H for the sequel, but I think I would like to see how Bill responded to a D/G, and I promise a D/H fic sometime in the future  
Erre: I love new readers, especially new readers who review, thank you!  
Gremlin: I did a happy dance last Tuesday when all of my finals were done, and then I thought of you. Sorry about the long wait.  
Dbi626: Good luck with your finals! And I'm glad you liked the Boggart and Lucius part, I thought they were pretty important to Draco's character  
Meirta: Since I wrote Lord Draco, does that mean I'm odd too? Wouldn't surprise me in the least, lol. Thanks so much for the review, and I'm glad you liked AtW, though I might have to go edit it sometime  
Jess: I hope your excitement didn't run out because you had to wait so long, sorry about that. Thanks for reviewing, and yeah, studying bites!

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Chapter 26

_Rule 23: In times of political unrest and upheaval, stay inconspicuous to avoid attention_.

By Wednesday at breakfast the last of the parents arrived to take their children home. Among the children picked up was one sixth year Ravenclaw girl who had been home-schooled for the earlier five years. Draco watched as the girl left with her 'mother' though he knew that in reality the girl was actually his cousin Nymphadora Tonks who he had never met. He looked up to the Head Table and met Bill's gaze, raising an eyebrow in question.

Bill had put the coded messages on the board for Tonks to decode, to safely pass what Bill had discovered at Death Eater meetings. Tonks departure could only mean that Bill was no longer spying. He wondered what had happened.

He didn't have time to talk to Bill about it until Ancient Runes after class.

"So, no longer spying, I take it?" asked Draco.

"I had a little run in with a Death Eater," said Bill, pulling out their work on the runes. He turned to Draco with a small grin. "Literally."

"They discovered you," said Draco.

"Not me," said Bill. "They just know that there is a spy attending their meetings, so I've been pulled out."

"How did you escape?" asked Draco.

"Aurors showed up," said Bill. "Stevick must have known where the meeting was and blabbed to them."

"And the mark?" asked Draco.

Bill rolled up his sleeve and showed Draco his left arm. Draco frowned; there was a light gray smudge where the Dark Mark would have been.

"I thought it was invisible," he said, taking a closer look.

"It was," said Bill. "But when we pulled it off of me some ink was absorbed into my skin. It's fading though, because there is no bond to keep it in."

"You could always get a potion," said Draco.

"Eh," said Bill, shrugging. "It'll be gone in a bit. How are your classes going?"

"Alright," Draco said, shrugging as well. "I have to attend the debate between the APR and FPR next week on Wednesday and write a huge essay on it."

"Do all of the neutrals have to write an essay about the debate?" asked Bill.

"Yeah," said Draco. "It's because we're not actually taking part in the debate. I told McGonagall that she should allow the neutrals to have their own side in the debate, but she wants us to 'listen to the debate and come to an informed, logical decision about the issues presented'," said Draco. "She thinks some of us are just saying neutral so we don't have to work at the debate, hence the huge essay."

Bill hid a smile at his sarcastic tone when he quoted McGonagall; Draco caught it anyway.

"And are you staying out of the debate to shirk on work?" Bill asked in a teasing tone.

"Rule twenty-three," said Draco. "In times of political unrest and upheaval, stay inconspicuous to avoid attention."

"Rule twenty-three of what?" asked Bill.

"The code I follow," said Draco, shrugging.

"What code is it?"

"Mine," said Draco. "I'm making it up as I go along."

"And you figure out how to behave according to the code," said Bill.

"Something like it," said Draco. He looked up at Bill's confused expression. "Everyone has a code they follow," he said. "You just don't realize it."

"Explain," said Bill, putting down his paper and looking at Draco thoughtfully.

Draco leaned back a bit in his seat. "People have personal codes," he said. "Potter will rescue someone because it is in his code to act the hero, Dumbledore will try to save everyone because his code believes it is the right thing to do, and the Dark Lord will kill all Mudbloods because that's his law."

"It's called a conscience," said Bill. "Or lack of one."

"Conscience is just a sub-conscious code of right and wrong," said Draco. "Children get certain rules drilled in their heads when they are younger and then when they grow up, those rules are gradually shaped by their own personal beliefs."

"But you can't subject all of your actions to one set of rules," said Bill. "People aren't limited like that."

"Aren't they?" asked Draco. "Snape became a spy because the Dark Lord's actions didn't fit into his code."

"Snape switched because he knew it was wrong," said Bill.

"Because his moral code said it was wrong," said Draco.

Bill shook his head. "People's ideas of right and wrong can be thought of as a code, but people sometimes act without knowing why. They act according to the situation, to what they are feeling at that moment and to that particular event. You can't condense their response to a rule that they follow. It's more than that."

"But the majority of the time, they act according to what they see as the correct way to act, according to a set of rules," said Draco.

"Yes," said Bill slowly. "But again, it's more than a rule. It's personality as well. A friendly person will go up to say hello to a stranger not because they have a rule about doing so, but because they like to meet new people, because they are curious. A shy person will hang back, not because they have a rule about being embarrassed in front of people, but because they don't like the attention."

"So people just act out of feelings and instinct," said Draco. "Just chemical responses in the brain."

"No," said Bill. "People do have moral codes that they personalize, things that they believe are right and wrong, but we can't simplify the act of reaction. It is a complex and amazing process."

"Or maybe you're just an optimist," said Draco, not giving an inch.

"I could say the opposite about you," Bill returned, smiling. "You are most definitely a pessimist."

"More of a realist," said Draco.

Bill snorted and they went back to work.

It wasn't until later that day that Draco realized what this meant. If Bill was no longer spying, then it must not be that big of a secret anymore. Draco's knowledge that he could turn Bill in at any moment if Bill revealed that Draco was a genius was gone. Bill had leverage over Draco now, if he really wanted it.

He shook the notion off. Bill wouldn't do that, and besides, he could always tell the Dark Lord that Bill had been the one to spy on him if Bill did tell. Not that Draco would turn Bill in, but it was a comfort to know that he could, that he was protected.

Late Saturday morning Draco headed over to Hagrid's for his training session with Orion. The thestral had greatly improved, now accepting the saddle meekly and Draco had taken him into the air a little bit last week and was looking forward to it again.

It was warm outside, warm and sunny, so much so that Draco pulled off his school robes, leaving him just in his black riding clothes as he shielded his eyes from the sun. He should have put on a sun-blocking potion. Oh well, he could always whip himself up some sun-burn healing cream afterwards.

He reached the pen, noting that Hagrid was not outside, but not paying it any mind. The half-giant was probably out in the woods somewhere, though he would be back to watch Draco's progress.

Draco hung his school robes on Buckbeak's fence and vaulted the wood posts. Buckbeak clucked happily, walking over to Draco, who had been a constant visitor every Saturday, and butting his shoulder lightly with its feathered head. That was a cry for attention if Draco had ever seen one.

"Needy creature, aren't you?" he asked, obligingly stroking the soft feathers.

Buckbeak squawked in agreement and Draco smirked, walking over to the water trough and emptying it since all that was left was warm, tepid water that was nearly completely evaporated from the sun. He then pumped some fresh water in, all the while Buckbeak hung over his shoulder, occasionally nudging his arm.

"Malfoy! What the hell are you doing?"

It was an angry shout and Draco looked up to see the Golden Trio exiting Hagrid's hut, expressions of disbelief on their faces. Ron was the one who had yelled.

"Something you should be used to, Weasley," said Draco nonchalantly. "Manual labor. Ring any bells?"

Ron looked understandably outraged but Hagrid came out, obviously hoping to diffuse any potentially dangerous confrontations.

"'Lo, Malfoy," he said steadily. "Orion's in the stable. I'll go git 'im fer you."

"Thank you Hagrid," said Draco, just as calmly. He finished pumping the water and turned to Buckbeak, giving him one lat pat before moving towards the fence. As usual, Buckbeak followed him all the way up to the pen. Draco leapt over, ignoring the looks from the Golden Trio as he petted the hippogriff, waiting for Hagrid.

The giant brought out the thestral, already saddled and bridled. Draco brushed past the three Gryffindors and took the reins from Hagrid, guiding the animal into the adjacent pen holding the course. Orion waited patiently as he swung himself onto the animal's back and then urged the beast forward with a slight nudge of his heels in the thestral's sides.

Orion moved off eagerly. He was an energetic animal and now that he was used to Draco riding him around the course, the animal was beginning to enjoy himself.

"Good boy," praised Draco, as they rounded the posts without even the slightest of hitches. They took the jumps next, and then finally Draco let the thestral take the sky in a single bound.

He allowed the smile to slide onto his face because no one was up there to see it. It was truly an amazing feeling, to look down and see the ground slowly shrink away and then look up, and there is nothing but sky and the thestral underneath, beating its powerful wings.

He reached out and stroked Orion's neck, made sure his feet were firmly in the stirrups that were actually more like leg braces, strapping his calves to the saddle so that when rider and thestral went upside down, the rider didn't fall off.

He gently guided Orion into a turn, gradually increasing the severity of the turn so that Orion got used to the pull of the saddle when Draco's weight shifted.

"Alright, boy, you ready for this?" Draco asked Orion. He then pulled on the reins so that they flipped completely upside down into a barrel roll. There was a moment when Orion froze so that Draco was hanging completely vertical, but it was a common glitch and Draco expertly maneuvered the thestral out of it.

He let Orion merely fly for a bit to recover and then rolled them again. This time it went flawlessly and Orion took on the initiative to segue straight into another roll.

Draco grinned, stopping a laugh from escaping his mouth, but then he thought better of it. What had Bill said? That people were friendly merely because of their personality? Well, if they didn't always follow a code, then Draco didn't need to always follow his either, and so Draco laughed, a real, honest-to-goodness laugh and let Orion go into a deep dive, pulling out of it sharply to rise spiraling into the air. This time a whoop of exhilaration left his lips as well as a laugh.

He angled them down for descent when he felt Orion starting to tire and the thestral landed rather well for his first time with a rider.

"Good boy," said Draco, rubbing the thestral's neck and then undoing the straps on the saddle. He dismounted easily, stroking the animal's face and then leading the thestral over to where Hagrid was setting out fresh blood for Orion to drink.

"'e's lookin' well," said Hagrid.

"He's a fast learner," said Draco, rolling his neck slightly to rid the tension. "He'll be ready by summer."

"Putting him in a show already?" asked Bill who was leaning on the fence. He had obviously come to visit Hagrid. Draco glanced around quickly and saw that the Golden Trio had left and was no where in sight.

"He's at the right age," said Draco. He joined Bill at the fence, pulling off his gloves.

"You look happy," observed Bill, and Draco realized that he was still smiling. He frowned slightly at that to Bill's amusement. "You didn't have to stop just because I noticed," said Bill.

"Just because I've picked up some bad habits doesn't mean I'm a complete Gryffindor," said Draco, slightly scathingly, though he didn't mean it offensively. Bill seemed to know that because he only laughed in response.

Draco went up into the castle a while later to change his clothes. While he was pulling on his shoes again, Blaise came in as well, his clothes sopping wet.

"Haven't seen you in a while," said Draco to the other boy, who was hurriedly stripping off the soaked garments.

"Been staying away from Nott," Blaise said shortly. "Him and the rest of the seventh years."

Draco was silent for a moment, debating with himself whether or not to get involved, but he needed to know if the Slytherins were the cause of the boy's soaked clothes. If they had done something, Draco would have to crack down on them.

"Did they have anything to do with your present state?" he asked, trying to sound casual and succeeding.

"No," said Blaise. "Me and Harry threw Ron into the lake, but then Harry turned on me."

Draco raised his eyebrow at that but he didn't comment.

"Have they tried anything recently?" he asked.

"They call me names and what not but they think that you dealt with me that one night earlier this year. They don't even remember what happened."

Blaise turned to look at him, his brows rising meaningfully. Draco turned back to his shoes, not meeting his gaze.

"Obliviate is a rather hard charm," Blaise continued, "but it is useful."

"What's your point, Zabini?" Draco asked, a hard edge to his voice.

"Always be prepared," said Blaise. "Isn't that what Snape is always telling us?"

Draco met his gaze. "So you're saying that I obliviated the six Slytherins who beat the crap out of you for turning blood traitor. Why, Zabini, would I do that?"

Blaise shrugged. "Maybe because we're friends," he said.

"We may be acquaintances, but we are not friends," said Draco, finishing tying his shoes and grabbing his bag. His hand was on the door when Blaise spoke up again.

"You're on the neutral side, even though without you, the APR is going to win, quoting some stupid bullshit about spying on the opposite team, though you're hardly doing that, now are you? You practically saved my life, and then took the blame for beating me up to further your bad boy image. You insult just as many people as ever, but you don't say 'Mudblood' anymore. You tell me we aren't friends, and yet you're wondering if I've been bullied lately. It doesn't work with me, Draco. I've seen under your mask."

Draco closed his eyes, still facing away from Blaise. When he opened them and spoke, it was slowly and without malice.

"It would be best if you forgot about those discrepancies, but I already know you won't do that, so you will not speak of them to anyone, not even your new Gryffindor friends."

He went to turn the door handle, but Blaise stopped him again.

"And when can we be friends?"

Draco paused. "Ask me the day after graduation," he said shortly, and then opened the door and stepped out into the Slytherin common room, a scowl on his face warning everyone away.

He went up to the library, which is where he went for some alone time. People rarely spoke to other people at the library, and given that he was the Slytherin Ice Prince, he was practically guaranteed some privacy, given, of course, that students weren't in a study crazy phase.

He was pleased to find that the library was rather empty for a time so near exams and took a secluded table in the back of the restricted area. He found a new book to read, one on theoretical potions and spent a rather pleasant afternoon there. He was just considering his options of going down for dinner or skipping, when Claire came in the library, looking entirely too composed to be doing nothing but looking for a few books. He watched as she returned two books and then headed over to the restricted area.

Draco quickly ducked behind a shelf, peering through the gaps to see one row over. Claire was skimming through a few books, finally finding the tome she wanted and pulling it out. She flipped through the pages before coming to a halt and reading the page over. She then pulled out a scrap piece of parchment and a quill and scribbled something down. She returned the book to the shelf and left.

Draco waited until the library door shut behind her before walking over to the shelf and pulling out the book she had been looking at, _Portkeys to Anywhere: How to Make, Set, and Activate your Portkey. _Draco frowned. Something wasn't right here, but for the life of him, he didn't know what.

It wasn't a crime for anyone to learn how to make a portkey, but something was off with the student teacher, he just didn't know what. He went back to his spot, rubbing his temples and staring blankly into space. He felt as if he had all of the puzzle pieces, but he couldn't put them together.

Monday and Tuesday went rather quickly, but whenever Draco was lost in thought, time seemed to fly by quicker than his over active mind. He simply didn't know what could be happening. Stevick was the Death Eater; they had caught him. So why did he feel so uneasy?

"Mr. Malfoy?"

The voice pulled him from his thought and he looked up at Lupin. It was Wednesday afternoon, and he couldn't concentrate on DADA for the life of him.

"We're taking notes, if you would like to take your books out," said Lupin, not unkindly. A few students smothered their laughter, but Draco didn't even glare. He bent down and pulled his things from his bag as Lupin went back to his lecture.

After the lecture Draco went to the library, knowing that he wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything as trivial as his sixth year studies, and so he found a couple of old scrolls of Ancient Runes, hoping to find something to help with the runes he and Bill were working on. He gave up, however, once it became apparent that not even the complex algorithms could hold his attention and merely doodled on his parchments. He finally gave into the aggravating voice in his head that told him something wasn't right and went to the shelves and picked up the book Claire had been looking at. He was positive that something completely obvious was staring him in the face.

He gave a frustrated sigh when no inspiration came and put the book back on the shelf then began packing up his things. He had dinner to go to, and then the debate to attend. He picked up his parchment and quills, but in doing so, jarred the spooled-up scroll on the desk. Draco stared blankly at the scroll as it rolled down the table and hit another, the momentum of the first enough to send both it, and the other, across the remaining open space and then they fell off the edge.

It was as if someone had just whispered a lumos charm in a dark closet.

Suddenly it made sense. Stevick hadn't been a Death Eater, not to begin with. _Claire_ was the original Death Eater, that was why she had those slight intonations in her voice, because she wasn't an innocent student teacher. She had somehow influenced Stevick to become a Death Eater as well, and that was how the Aurors had gotten the meeting place from Stevick.

Stevick had been initiated into the Death Eater's ranks as an additional spy a few weeks ago, only to get to Voldemort to receive the Mark, Claire had most likely given Stevick the name of the meeting place so he could Apparate there. No Death Eater was given the name of the meeting place, they were called by Voldemort through the Mark, but to get to Voldemort to _get_ the Dark Mark, either the name of the place was needed or another Death Eater. Claire obviously stayed back so she wouldn't be associated with Stevick, so if one was caught, the other wouldn't be, and Stevick was given the name of the meeting place.

Draco's mind flashed back to when he had been in the infirmary and Stevick had come in with an allergic reaction, scratching his left forearm. He had been allergic to the ink in the Dark Mark. Some people couldn't get tattoos because of allergic responses, and the ink in the Dark Mark was just like a tattoo.

Claire could have figured out that Bill was the spy. Hadn't Bill said that he ran into a Death Eater? If Claire knew, it would make sense why Claire needed to learn how to make a portkey. She couldn't grab him and Apparate; Hogwarts was warded plus Voldemort often warded his residences as well.

Draco bolted, shoving his things into his bag and leaving the scrolls on the floor. They had served their purpose.

Draco knew where Bill would be. The professor was usually in his class grading papers after his Wednesday lessons. He cursed the fact that the school was so large, running from the east wing first floor to the west wing third floor, and cursed the fact that as it was nearing dinnertime, students were mingling around the halls.

He finally made it to Bill's classroom and burst through the door. It seemed to happen in slow motion. Claire's back was to Draco and she was handing Bill a piece of parchment. Bill looked up, startled as Draco ran in, but his fingers were already closing of the paper.

"Bill, don't!" Draco shouted, but it was too late.

He could see Bill's hazel eyes clear in understanding, but a split second later his fingers touched the page and the two disappeared.

Draco skidded to a halt, gasping for air as he stared at the spot his professor had been a minute ago.

"Shit," he said, and that seemed to sum everything up.

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"Could you look at something for me?" Claire asked.

It was after his class on Wednesday and Bill was just finishing up, getting ready to head down to dinner and then the debate afterwards.

"Sure," he said.

Claire came forward, holding out a piece of paper and Bill was momentarily suspicious at her smile. It wasn't her usual seductive one, but he couldn't place the emotion. He remembered what Draco said about not trusting the student teacher and he felt a sudden chill. He shook off the feeling of unease. Stevick had been the Death Eater; Stevick was captured. He was safe.

He reached for the paper just as the door burst open. It seemed to happen so quickly. He could see Draco run in, panic filling his normally guarded eyes as he took in the scene.

"Bill, don't!"

Bill sudden realized that the smile Claire wore was triumphant and that this couldn't be good, and then his fingers brushed the page and he felt the familiar tug of a portkey.

Shit.

He fell when he finally landed because he wasn't prepared for the portkey and the first thing he was aware of was the fact that he was lying on a cold, stone path. He slowly raised his head and took note of his surroundings. He was in the middle of a courtyard of some sort. It looked as if it had once been a castle, but now it had fallen into disrepair. The roof was gone in some areas, and a few walls were slowly crumbling down. He was surrounded by men in dark robes and white masks, though there were considerably fewer of the Death Eaters than in the usual get-togethers, which meant that this was not a normal meeting. He didn't even try to escape; his wand was still on his desk back in Hogwarts.

The mass parted and another figure came forward, one dressed in black and with red glowing eyes. Bill immediately clamored to his feet. There was no way he was going to be caught on the ground in front of Lord Voldemort.

"So, you have caught the spy," said Voldemort to Claire, who was standing beside him. Claire bowed deeply.

"I have, milord," she said.

Voldemort beckoned her forward and laid a hand on her golden hair.

"You have done well," he smiled, his voice like oil. His pale hand slowly stroked down her face and she seemed to relish the touch. "You have made your master proud."

"I live to serve you," she said.

Voldemort smiled at that. "Go and join the others. You shall receive your reward later tonight."

She bowed again and joined the circle. Voldemort stepped in front of Bill, and suddenly Bill felt very afraid.

"Crucio!"

Bill screamed; there wasn't any way he could even hope to keep it in. It was as if his entire being was lit on fire, burning away his flesh and biting into his bones with savage teeth and the only way he could hope to lessen the pain was to scream, but even then, the torture didn't stop.

The curse abruptly ended and he found himself on the ground, gasping for air.

"You have been spying on me," said Voldemort.

It was then that Bill realized how hopeless his situation was. He was captured by the darkest wizard alive and he knew that Bill had been spying on him. He was going to die, this was it.

Bill thought once on Fleur and her gorgeous smile, the way her eyes lit up when she saw him and the way her hair curled around her sweet face. He wondered if she would be alright.

"Crucio!"

He screamed again as the agony filled him, shooting down every nerve as his muscles clenched and convulsed. This time when it ended he had to bite back a sob.

"I said 'you have been spying on me'," hissed Voldemort. "What do you have to say to that?"

For some reason, Bill thought of Draco right then, and what the blond would say when confronted with that question.

"Well, it's about time you figured it out," said Bill. "You're supposed to be all-knowing, aren't you?"

He saw the red eyes flash and suddenly he was screaming again, but this was worse than the other times. This time, he had made Voldemort angry. It was no longer fire shooting over his flesh, but lightning spearing through his body, jerking his body like a marionette. He couldn't breath anymore, his scream dying out as his breath choked off, his chest constricting in agony and he couldn't even think to be alarmed at his lack of breath.

It hurt even after the spell ended, a deep, gut-wrenching ache and he wanted to be sick but he was shaking too hard.

He was jerked to his feet and held there with a spell. Voldemort grabbed his head, staring him deeply in the eyes.

"How?"

It was as if someone was drilling through his brain and the red eyes were boring into his very soul. He pulled up his mental shields just before the memories started coming forth and he could make out Voldemort's snarl of displeasure. The real pain began then. It was as if a snake had wound its way around his brain and was slowly squeezing, tightening, and causing tears to leak out of his eyes as he grunted and tried to keep his barriers strong.

Voldemort was going to break through any minute now, he knew that with a certain dread, and so he put up decoy memories. Draco had theorized that Bill had gotten the Mark off a dead body and while Bill didn't know if that was possible, Voldemort didn't have to be privy to that piece of information.

When Voldemort finally broke through he received a false memory, a memory of Dumbledore performing some odd ritual that Bill didn't understand over a dead Death Eater, and then the Dark Mark being transferred onto his arm.

Voldemort pulled out of his memories.

"What ritual is that?" he demanded.

"I don't know," said Bill truthfully, trying to repair his mental shields.

"Who else is in the Order?"

Bill shut his mouth.

No.

He wasn't giving him that.

He was prepared this time for Voldemort's mind attack. He let the Dark Lord see his memories, the ones he didn't need to protect. He was silent as Voldemort ruffled through his experiences, bringing up the ones that brought him pain, his first time seeing a thestral, attending the funeral they held for Sirius Black. It felt like rape. He was exposed and his thoughts were laid out bare for another to see, but when Voldemort tried searching for information on the Order, he came up against a black box.

Snape had taught him that one. It was a trick used by Occlumens when coming up against a powerful Legilimens. Let them see everything but what you need to protect, focus the energy on keeping only the essentials secret. And it worked. Voldemort couldn't see in.

Bill only had time for a brief period of exultation before Voldemort threw him to the ground, bending over him to whisper in his ear.

"You are stubborn," he said. "But you won't hold out for long."

The hot, putrid breath left his ear and he could hear Voldemort calling a few Death Eaters over.

"I need him alive," said Voldemort. "That is my only requirement."

Somehow 'shit' just didn't sum that up.

He watched as three large Death Eaters came at him and roughly hauled him to his feet. They dragged him into the castle which was empty, save the rats and spiders, and he struggled the entire way. If he could break free now, he might be able to make a run for it. The Death Eaters seemed to know what he was thinking though, because the two holding him tightened their grip and the other followed them with his wand drawn.

Not surprisingly they went to the dungeon which was lit with torches in brackets along the walls.

"Get the potion," growled the one on his left to the man who was trailing them.

Bill did not like the sound of that. He knew that Snape made a lot of the potions for the Death Eaters, and Bill knew that he was a very good potion maker and had no desire to sample the products. He didn't get a choice though.

One of the Death Eaters grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms and grabbing his hair to yank his head back. The other pried open his jaw with bruising fingers and poured the potion in. He was so expertly held that he didn't even have the chance to struggle and once the potion was in his mouth, the hand jammed his jaw shut.

He tried not to swallow, he really did, but the potion was burning his mouth and he choked it down reflexively, and immediately wished he hadn't. It was as if his blood was boiling, running into every single part of his body, and he screamed. His brain was on fire now too, his body convulsing as he lost control. He couldn't see; a film of red blocked his view but he could feel his captor laughing behind him and suddenly he was falling, hit hard ground with a crack that made him cry out again, but the ground was cool, blessedly cool. He found that the red was clearing in his vision and the pain slowly fading.

He curled up as his stomach lurched, the potion spewing from his mouth as his stomach rejected it, and he found he couldn't stop heaving even after his stomach was empty. He retched again, this time bringing up red blood that sizzled when it hit the cold stone. He stared at it dumbly. Sweet Merlin, his blood had been boiling. He retched again at that thought.

A booted foot caught his side and he bit back a grunt.

"Feel like talking, blood traitor?" said the man who had kicked him.

For some reason, that one act caused him to feel calmer. He could cope with this; they weren't getting anything. He spat out a bit of blood.

"Don't count on it," he said, glaring at them defiantly and struggling to his feet.

He couldn't see their faces, but he could imagine the cold, malicious smiles and the evil glints in black eyes.

"Good," the Death Eater said.

He didn't even see the fist coming.

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Again, sorry it took so long to update, and sorry about the rather abrupt ending, but things are finally happening! Review, and I'll get the next chapter up ASAP!


	27. Death Eaters, pt I

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own several job applications as I go job hunting (ewwwwww!)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Because a few people wondered, Claire did not see Draco try to stop Bill. She had her back to him, and it all happened in a split second, so she didn't even realize someone was calling to Bill. She was all excited about Bill getting the portkey, so didn't register Draco's yelling, sorry about the confusion.

**Dbi626**: People are going to start discovering about Draco in the sequel, I think that the climax is being reached in this story and there are only a few more chapters  
**Rachel**: Hey, I can't spell even in the day hours (that's why I have a beta!), thanks for the review, glad you liked it  
**Slickslytherin**: Thanks for the review. I'm glad you're excited for the update.  
**Jess**: lol, I'm glad you enthusiasm didn't run out, and see, this update was up much quicker!  
**Mask**: yeah, but you're not Freud, you're not even the psych major, so there (smirks)  
**Mono**: Don't worry, no romance in this story, and only pre-romance in the sequel, if I write a third, then it will be romantically centered  
**Meirta**: lol, I love Star Trek, and so I did like reading it in a Captain Kirk voice, thanks for the review. Spock says "Happy birthday. Live long and prosper." (disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek either)  
**Chicklepea**: Awww, I'm sorry you're sick and I hope you feel better. If not, here is a sick present for you.  
**Natalie**: Thanks for the review, and I hope it's up early enough for you!  
**Gremlin**: Actually, Claire was facing the other way, so she didn't see him, that would be too mean to Draco I think. Thanks for the review!  
**Lilith**: Your wish is my command. More updates! Thanks for reviewing!  
**Kely5**: I do indeed study psychology, (I love it!) and the sequel will mainly be about Draco trying to get along with the others (i.e. Golden Trio, so there will be Hermione, just not D/H) Thanks for reviewing!  
**Erre**: Well, the sequel will be pre D/G, and if I write a third, it will be hard core D/G (hard core as in relationships, not physicalness cuz I don't do sex scenes) thanks for the review!

Thanks to my amazing beta for editing two chapters!

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Chapter 27

Death Eaters, pt 1

Draco stared at the spot where he had last seen Bill though his eyes were completely unfocused and his fingers were tapping out the 1-3-2-4 pattern double time. He broke out of his trance two minutes later and shut the door. His first target was the blackboard. He knocked it over with a crash and then upset a few chairs. The desk was last, and he spotted Bill's wand and pocketed it, then shoved the neatly stacked papers off the table top and scattered the contents of Bill's bag all over the floor.

He left the room, locking to door behind him with a rather powerful locking spell, but used Bill's wand to do so, just on the off-chance they started checking wands in the school. They never checked the wand of the victim. He then went straight to the teacher's wing of the school.

He didn't know what room Bill's was, but he knew that the new teachers got the rooms at the end of the hall and one of the rooms still had 'no admittance' signs from the Aurors. That had been Stevick's room.

He chose the door on the left but it was locked, and further investigation proved that the handle was made of spell-resistant brass. He knew a few choice Dark spells that would work, but he had to be inconspicuous, so he pulled off his Prefect's badge and used the pin end and a spare quill to shamelessly pick the lock.

The door swung open and Draco stepped in, immediately knowing that he had picked the right room. The room was full of pictures of the same red-haired family. They were mainly casual shots, or candid ones, but there were a couple of the family posing formally together, and of course, there were pictures of Fleur.

Draco tore his gaze from the photos and did a quick sweep of the room. The bed was made, but still rather messy, and the desk was cluttered. He spotted the trunk by the window and immediately went for it, pulling it open easily. What he was looking for was right on top, the slippery-smooth fabric of an invisibility cloak.

Draco pulled it out, shaking out the material and running his hands over it for a moment. He had never held one before and it was incredible. He shoved it in his bag and then left the room, sparing one last look at the photo in the middle of the wall and smiling slightly at all of the Weasley siblings who had their arms around each others shoulders, but then one of the twins slipped – whether accidentally or not, he couldn't tell – and brought the entire group of red-heads down in a pile of tangled limbs. The group was all laughing as they climbed to their feet.

Draco made sure to lock the door behind him before exiting the hall. He had two more stops to make.

He ran silently down to the dungeons, and stepped into the now deserted Potions room, shutting the door quietly behind him. He went straight to the potions cupboard and started pulling out the vials of what he might need, which included a blood-replenishing draught, a pain potion, a pain ointment, and a few others.

He left the room after placing a charm on the vials to keep them from cracking and put them in his bag. His last stop was his room.

It was dinnertime and so all of the students were in the Great Hall and Draco didn't have to be discrete about dumping his bag's contents on his bed and picking out the school books he wouldn't need, and then repacking the invisibility cloak, Bill's wand, and potion vials along with bandages from his trunk.

Draco was no innocent. He knew very well what interrogation sessions often looked like with a madman like Voldemort, and those were only mild compared to what Bill must be going through.

He also knew where Bill would be, at least, he had a pretty good idea, but that was it, just an idea.

But still, he wasn't going to leave Bill in the hands of Death Eaters, and right now, he was the only one who might be able to get him out. It was funny, now that he thought about it. He hadn't even thought about the choice of rescuing Bill. He had just seen his professor disappear, and the next step his mind made was 'how am I going to rescue him?' and not 'should I rescue him?' He had changed a lot this school year; he was practically a Gryffindor.

Well, not really. If he was a Gryffindor like Potter, he would have gone straight to a teacher, told them everything that had happened and that he didn't want to be a Death Eater. Then, when they had told him to stay behind and to let the Aurors get Bill, he would have snuck out and gone anyway. No, he was still a Slytherin. He knew that him going alone would be the best chance Bill had. A group of people was way too noticeable and either the Death Eaters would kill Bill when they knew they were under attack, or they would take him to an even more secure location. Besides, explaining the story to the teachers and Order members alone would take at least three hours with all of their cross-examinations and truth spells, and Draco didn't have that much time. Neither did Bill.

Draco finished packing his bag after pocketing his unregistered wand. He had bought it from Knockturn Alley for his sixteenth birthday when he had bought his Firebolt as well but simply didn't mention it to his father, who did not need to know the fact that his sixteen year old son could now do magic outside of school. His father would have grounded him for months.

After double-checking his bag he left his dorm, nearly running straight into McGonagall.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said, casting him her usual frown, and as usual, he realized how intimidating she was. "Why are you not in the Great Hall?"

"Is dinner mandatory?" Draco asked, sneering slightly.

"No," said McGonagall, "but the debate afterwards is and it is starting any minute, so move along."

The Great Hall was drastically changed for the debate. The Head Table was removed and in its place was two podiums and behind them, chairs for the debate teams. The sixth years would debate first, answering questions given by McGonagall, and then afterwards, the seventh years would debate as well. The neutral sixth and seventh years, along with the third, fourth, and fifth years were expected to attend the debate, and so the house table were removed and rows of chairs were set up in their stead. Draco took a seat in the back and wished they would all hurry up and get started.

He had planned on going to the debate, just so no one would realize he was missing. (Rule 22: If you must go and play hero, make sure some one else gets the credit.) Well, this was a must situation, after all (Rule 4) having friendships is costly, but (Rule 19) sometimes they are a good thing. And being friends with Bill was a good thing, mostly for him since he had never really had that kind of support before, but in this case, it was a good thing for Bill too. In situations like this, being on the good side of a Death Eater's son can really pay off.

Draco sat up straighter as the lights dimmed in the Great Hall, putting the audience in almost complete darkness. The 'stage' was then lit as McGonagall stepped forward.

"Thank you all for attending. As you know, the sixth and seventh years have attended a debate class every Wednesday night for the school year in which they have discussed the major political conflicts of today's time. This was incorporated into the curriculum so that the all of you students could discuss and form your opinions, in an unbiased atmosphere without any outside pressures."

Draco felt like snorting at that comment. Most of the children who had Death Eater parents knew that their 'outside pressures' could find a way to Hogwarts if they did decide against the Dark Lord. Even if Hogwarts was safe, they still had to come home for summers.

He waited until McGonagall stepped down to sit in the teacher's row in the front of the audience. _Notice it_, he thought at her, _notice that Bill isn't there_.

McGonagall did, leaning over to whisper to Dumbledore and motioning to the empty chair where Bill should have been. Draco watched as she quietly got up and left the room as the debate started.

Draco quietly reached down and pulled on the invisibility cloak. No one else was in the back row and so no one noticed when he disappeared from sight. Now here was the fun part. He carefully got up and walked down the side aisle, staying close to the wall as he worked his way to the side door that McGonagall had left open a crack. Unfortunately, the door was in the front of the room, so he couldn't make a sound.

Luckily, the debate seemed to be rather intense, seeing as Nott was getting up to make his opening statement.

"Why should we have to argue with Mudbloods?" he asked, and the room went wild with boos, hisses, and some cheers.

Draco slipped out the door. It swung open a little bit when he passed through, but no one noticed. He broke into a run once he was sufficiently past the Great Hall, and went straight for the dungeon passageway and out the secret door. He sprinted to the edge of the grounds and then paused once he was in the forest, taking the time to catch his breath and steel himself for what he was about to do. It wasn't everyday that a Pureblood with Death Eaters for parents decided to go against everything he was taught to rescue a blood traitor and a spy. It wasn't everyday a Malfoy risked his life to save a Weasley. And it wasn't everyday that a teenager went up against Voldemort; of course, if he was Potter, it probably was every day, but for the average teenager, it was something new.

He took a few deep breaths, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth for serenity. He then cast an Apparating-silencing charm on himself (which would eliminate the Apparating crack), made sure the invisibility cloak covered everything, raised his unregistered wand, and Apparated.

He appeared on the outskirts of a wood by an abandoned castle that was once belonged to the Black family. It was actually Regulus Black's inheritance, but the unfortunate man turned rather blatantly traitorous to the Dark Lord and was killed. The castle had already been deserted many years before, and without its new owner, it was largely forgotten about.

Draco could see Death Eater scouts patrolling outside of the castle, but Draco was invisible and so walked straight past them and around to the back of the castle.

He had been here before with his father, and so he knew that the back of the castle was even more crumbling than the front. Sure enough, the back wall was only standing two feet high in some places, so he easily stepped over it.

The inside of the castle was in better condition, meaning that he actually had to travel by hallways, and he wasn't exactly sure where he was going, though he was pretty sure of two things: one, Bill would be in the dungeon, and two, the dungeons would be underneath the castle so he needed to go down.

He silently ran through the halls looking for a staircase, nearly running into a group of Death Eaters that were rounding the same bend. He pulled up shortly and pressed himself against the wall as they passed. They had their masks off and Draco recognized quite a few faces, including Claire, the perfect student teacher who had been so sweet and perfect, no one had suspected her, except him. Rule 13: There is no hole bigger in a disguise, than the role of perfection.

He waited until they passed and then followed them into what appeared to be the kitchen, where they joined even more of the cloaked followers, though their masks were discarded as they ate around a large table and laughed about their current escapades. Draco did not have a weak stomach, and he could tolerate a lot of gore, but the things that they were describing plus the smell of food caused him to feel slightly nauseas, but he stayed. Patience always pays off (rule 9) and soon enough another Death Eater came in. It was Nott, Sr.

"You," he ordered, pointing to a younger Death Eater. "Go get McNair; our lord wishes to hear the progress on the prisoner."

Draco stopped himself from frowning in worry, even though he felt a cold chill race down his spine. The emotion threw him off for a minute and he had to run to catch up to the lackey. McNair was a sick bastard who pretty much ran the 'interrogation' part of the Death Eater operation and if he was questioning Bill…

Draco frowned. He couldn't afford to be emotional right now, not when he needed to figure out how to get himself and Bill out of this place without being captured – scratch that, he just plain shouldn't be emotional at all. What the hell had happened to the Ice Prince of Slytherin? He had a feeling that he didn't want to know and quickly threw up all the emotional barriers he had, relying solely on his logic.

The lackey led him straight to the dungeons which were guarded by two Death Eaters. He even left the door open so that Draco didn't have to worry about sliding through a closing door. Draco nearly pulled up short when he reached the bottom of the stairs and for a moment, he wanted to start hexing immediately, but he stopped himself. Avoid split second decisions (rule 7) and wait and see how things play about before making your move (rule 6).

So Draco did not intervene when the 'crucio' spell was placed on Bill, but rather stole off into a corner of the room and waited, giving into the temptation of putting his hands over his ears as Bill screamed, and then choked on the blood that seemed to be welling from his throat.

"Uh, excuse me?" the lackey asked McNair.

The torturer turned to the younger member, still holding the curse on Bill.

"The-the Dark Lord wants to see you."

McNair turned back to Bill with an almost regretful expression on his face and grudgingly took off the dark curse.

"I'll be back," he promised, stepping over to pull the spy up halfway. "Are you going to miss me?"

Bill didn't answer and McNair kicked him sharply in the ribs. Bill cried out, curling up slightly and Draco pressed his hands even tighter over his ears.

"I said, 'Are you going to miss me?'" McNair growled.

"No," Bill grounded out, but it seemed as if talking was painful to him.

McNair laughed, letting Bill drop to the floor, and left the room, the lackey hurrying after him. The door at the top of the stairs was locked and Draco slowly took in the sight of his Ancient Runes professor.

Bill was curled up on the stone ground, his clothes dirtied and stained red. His face was bruised and blood smeared, with a larger puddle of blood underneath him. That didn't look good. Draco pulled off his invisibility cloak and ran to Bill's side, touching his shoulder lightly to get his attention because the professor's eyes were closed.

Bill jerked away from him, his eyes opening and lighting on his face.

"Draco?" he managed, his voice hoarse from overuse. "What are you-?"

"What does it look like?" Draco asked, reaching out to touch the large black bruise on his jaw. It was as he suspected; the jaw was fractured. "Can you tell me what hurts the most?"

Bill weakly pushed his hands away. "Get out," he managed. "Tell Dumbledore-,"

Rule 1: Do not let anyone make your decisions for you.

"I'm not telling him shit," said Draco, now pressing on Bill's chest which made the spy bite back a yell. There were ribs broken. "The Aurors would just mess this up. I'm your best bet for getting you out of here alive."

"I don't want-," Bill cut off with a gasp as Draco ran his hands over his left leg. There was a rather large break right above his ankle. "I don't want you to get hurt," Bill finished.

"Stop talking," Draco ordered. "You've got a broken jaw." He rummaged around in his pack and pulled out the pain potion then tipped it into Bill's mouth.

Bill gagged on the taste but managed to down most of it. Draco pulled up Bill's pant leg a little and smeared the pain ointment above Bill's ankle to further minimize the pain because Bill was going to have to be able to walk on his own for the most part. He re-capped the vial and put it back in his bag.

"Can you stand?" he asked.

"Draco," Bill started.

"Bill, shut up, or I swear I will hex you," said Draco, his voice going cold and deadly serious. "I'm getting you out of here because I am the only one who has the ability to make sure you live through this. Now, if you want to see your family again and if you want to get married in the summer, you will do exactly what I say, understand?"

Bill held his gaze for a moment and then nodded.

"Good," said Draco. "Now can you stand up?"

He helped Bill to his feet, frowning at the way Bill was trembling. Now that he looked more closely, he could see that the professor looked slightly feverish. He swore silently in his mind. The usual first line of interrogations was pain potions which could lead to some very nasty side effects.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and then pulled the invisibility cloak back on him. He slid Bill's arm over his shoulder and began helping the taller man up the stairs.

Bill's shaking worsened and a couple of times they stumbled, but they managed to make it to the top. Draco moved Bill to the wall and then pulled the door open. There were two Death Eater guards that whipped around at the opening door, but Draco had already cast his curse. The two fell straight to the floor in a deep sleep that would last a good six hours, plenty of time to get out of the castle, he hoped.

Draco went back for Bill, who jumped a little when the hand came out of no where to help him.

"Sorry," Draco apologized. Rule 12: Always maintain reputations, unless you can afford to lose them, and Draco couldn't afford it just yet, so the invisibility cloak would just have to stay on. Bill seemed to realize that because he managed a slight smile.

"It's fine," he said.

Draco cast a camouflage charm on Bill and then slipped a hand around Bill's waist. Bill leaned rather heavily on him and Draco winced slightly at the physical contact as he was never one for touching. He shook off the feeling and they walked out the door.

Draco realized the instant the alarm went off he should have prepared for something like this.

"Shit," he swore, leveling a blasting hex on the door. The door burst into splinters and immediately the ear-piercing ringing was silenced. Draco mentally listed every curse word he ever learned as he and Bill quickened their pace towards the end of the hall. For Merlin's sake, it was common practice to have alarms when a prisoner left Azkaban, he should have figured the Death Eaters might have that sort of system as well.

He could hear the Death Eaters running towards them and dropped Bill behind a pile of fallen stones.

"Stay here," he told the Professor and then pressed Bill's wand into his hand.

"Draco-," Bill started, obviously preparing to tell Draco to get out, but then he stopped and sighed. "Be careful."

Draco smiled at that and moved off to the middle of the hall.

The Death Eaters rounded the corner, and was met by a barrage of curses from apparently no one at all.

"It's another one of those invisible spies!" one screamed to the others and they began throwing their own curses as well.

They didn't even come close to hitting him, and Draco smirked as he completely decimated their numbers, though he knew that even more would be coming soon.

"You alright Bill?" he asked, coming over the help the spy up again.

"Fine," said Bill. "You?"

There was real concern in his eyes and voice and Draco smiled.

"'Course," he said, reaching down and pulling the teacher up.

They had almost made it outside when they hit the real obstacle. The Death Eaters were completely blocking their exit, wands drawn and ready. Draco pulled Bill down another hall before they were spotted and then stopped to think.

He knew that right now all exits would be covered to trap them inside and that even more Death Eaters would be outside the castle just in case they did manage to break free. He had watched the Death Eaters respond to similar situations when he had attended meetings over the summer. Rule 3: Know your enemy.

His fingers began tapping out the pattern as his mind whirled through all of the possibilities until he finally came to a conclusion.

"I'll be right back," he told Bill.

The professor reached out for him, but Draco dodged the hand and then walked to the edge of the wall to peer around. There were perhaps twelve Death Eaters.

He took a breath and pointed his wand at one of the masked figures.

"Imperio!" he whispered.

It was odd, controlling another person. He could feel the struggle in his mind and aimed one thought at the other presence. "Fight them!" Rule 16: If you know you are going to fail, always make sure that someone or something else will take the blame. He didn't think they could make it out, and so he was going to cast as much suspicion on everyone as he could.

He pulled back as the room erupted with spells, concentrating on that one thought. 'Fight them!' He could hear shouts and yells and a few dark curses and suddenly the link was severed, which meant that the person he was controlling was down.

"The hell was that?" one of the Death Eater's asked, fear in his voice, and that was what gave Draco an inspiration.

He silently cast a charm on himself, one to dye his hair black and turn his eyes green. It was a quick transfiguration charm that only lasted a few minutes, but it would suffice. He knew that even then he looked nothing like Harry Potter, but people's own minds are their greatest deceivers. He was going to use that against them (Rule 20).

He let the invisibility cloak fall to the floor and ran into the room, calling down hexes as he did. It took them a full ten seconds to snap out of their shock and return the fight, and by then, they didn't stand a chance. His 'imperio'ed man had taken out at least four of them, and because all Death Eaters feared Harry Potter, they made rash decisions.

He didn't escape unscathed though. A chunk of stone wall had landed on him when a curse went awry, blasting out a piece of the wall. The debris struck him on the shoulder and he would have a rather large bruise there in a few minutes and a slicing hex had caught his cheek, but it wasn't deep.

He had just finished the battle when he could feel his transfiguration fading and he smirked. When they awoke, they would tell stories about the Boy-Who-Lived using dark curses and besting all of them. Rule 21: If blame must be placed, place it on something you have no control over and make it someone else's responsibility. There was no way any one would even think of Draco being a part of the fight after that.

He went back to Bill, pulling on the invisibility cloak now that he had his grey eyes and white-blond hair back, but he didn't pull in on quick enough; Bill saw the blood on his face.

"Draco, are you alright?" he asked.

"Just a scratch," said Draco, grabbing him again and feeling concern spike through him. Bill was cold to the touch; a bit of shock setting in once his body had time to recuperate from the torture potions and the strain of the Cruciatus. "Let's keep moving."

The invisibility cloak and the camouflage charm allowed them to make it the rest of the way outside without anymore incidents, though the back entrance was guarded by two Death Eaters with more stationed around the castle. This time would have to be silent. One yell and the rest of the group would come running and it would have to be fast, because the scouts Draco saw when he first came in would be patrolling every exit frequently and checking in with the guards.

"We're going to have to run for it after this," Draco whispered to Bill.

Bill nodded and Draco quickly scanned for any alarms that might be breached if Bill went past the actual castle. Rule 18: Learn the first time. Never make the same mistake twice.

Satisfied that there were no additional traps, he sent off two spells in quick succession so that the Death Eater on the right barely had time to register the fact that his partner had just dropped unconscious before black descended on him as well.

"Now!" Draco commanded in a whisper and they jumped over the crumbled wall and were just about to start running when they ran straight into two scouts.

Draco didn't even have time to draw his wand. He let go of Bill and punched one of the Death Eaters in the gut, bringing up his knee to break the man's nose. The man staggered back and Draco kicked out once, again connecting with the Death Eater's gut and sending the man toppling. Rule 10: Be prepared to fight in all forms of combat.

He was just turning towards the other Death Eater when a slice of fire burned across his back. He whirled around to see something gleaning in the man's hand, but now it was stained with red. He didn't let himself react to the pain, knowing that in a fight it is deadly to do so. Instead, he grabbed the arm with the knife and twisted it back, forcing the man to drop the knife. A quick kick to the ribs and a measured strike to the neck sent the man to the ground.

Hands connected with Draco's back and started to pull the cloak off. It was the Death Eater with the broken nose, but no sooner had the hands snagged the material, than the man toppled over, unconscious.

Draco whirled again to see Bill on the ground with his wand outstretched and pointing at the Death Eater.

"Thanks," said Draco, bending down to help Bill up and biting off a gasp as a flash of pain shot up from his back to his head.

"You're hurt," said Bill.

"Not as bad as you," said Draco, hauling his professor up. There were shouts and Draco looked up to see more Death Eaters running towards them, having seen the fight.

They broke into a run simultaneously, heading for the trees. They reached the shelter of the woods long before any of the shouted spells reached them, but it was a relief short lived. Draco had tried to Apparate with Bill only nothing happened.

"Shit, they set up more wards," said Draco. The Death Eaters obviously did not want them Apparating away to safety. "Can you run anymore?" he asked Bill.

"Sure," said Bill, but Draco knew it wasn't likely that the professor could last much longer; he was barely staying upright.

Draco cast his mind around for something that might aid them, and then remembered the old house in the woods a while away from here. He wondered if it was too far. Shouts behind him from the Death Eaters told him he didn't have a choice and so he grabbed Bill again and they set off.

They had run for maybe three minutes through the woods, tripping in the dark over tree roots and branches, and Draco knew that they weren't going to get much further unless something was done. By this time, a few of the more in shape Death Eaters were catching up with them quite quickly but if he could hold those few off, they might be able to make it. So he staggered to a halt, making a show of tiring out and then falling to the ground, although because he was invisible, it looked as if Bill had collapsed alone. Never reveal your strengths, for they can become powerful weapons of surprise when used properly (Rule 2).

The camouflage charm had pretty much worn off of Bill by now, and Draco made no move to re-do it. The Death Eaters had seen Bill fall, and figured he was out.

"Stay down," Draco whispered to Bill, who had hit the ground rather hard when Draco had purposefully fallen and Draco felt slightly guilty at that.

Bill was too tired to even begin to argue and nodded mutely, gasping in breaths. His teeth were ground together to keep from crying out at the pain and Draco touched his shoulder once, trying to offer some sort of comfort. He then moved behind a tree and waited.

The first few Death Eaters came within ten feet of the prone spy when there was a shouted cry of "_Reicio Antepilani_!"

It was a powerful spell, an ancient spell, one used during wizarding wars. The first line of Death Eaters were propelled into the air by a shockwave. The spell would have sent them thirty feet backwards had the trees not been there. As it was, they smacked into the trees with a sickening force and crumpled to the ground. He knew that would keep the Death Eaters back a distance and give them time to reach the house. Rule 14: Sometimes it's necessary to reveal strengths to be perceived as strong.

He helped Bill up for what seemed to be the millionth time that night, but this time Draco was supporting practically all of Bill's weight.

"Just a little further," Draco told him.

He may have lied slightly, but they reached the house before any of the Death Eaters did and they stumbled up the sagging steps and into the deserted home. Draco set Bill down against a wall and then set wards around the house to keep the Death Eaters out. These weren't ordinary wards, but dark ones that would take a least a few hours for a ward-breaker to get through.

Once he was sure that the wards were steady, Draco searched the house for anything they could use and happened across a few lanterns which he lit and then took back to Bill. He pulled off the invisibility cloak and knelt by his professor.

"How are you?" he asked, reaching out and putting a hand on Bill's forehead. He frowned at the heat he felt.

"Alright," Bill said, leaning weakly against the wall, his eyes half closed.

Draco didn't say anything to that but went searching around the house again and found a pump that still worked. He dug some bandages out of his bag and wet a few, then went back to Bill's side and began cleaning him up a bit so he could access the damage. He decided that Bill's face would eventually heal on its own, and although normally he would have healed Bill's broken jaw, mending bones took a lot out of him and he had to keep the wards up.

He ran his wand over the rest of Bill, a slight glow emitting from the wand whenever he encountered a broken bone. Draco hid a wince. Four ribs were broken, though they didn't seem to be causing any internal injuries, and of course, Bill's leg, which was actually a double fracture.

"Bill, I need to know what they gave you," said Draco. If Bill still had certain potions in him, it would be advisable not to give him anything else for the pain.

Bill opened his eyes, though it seemed to be a real struggle.

"Couple of potions," he said thickly.

"What kind?" asked Draco.

"One made my blood heat up," said Bill. "Another one made me cold, and the last made me see bad things."

Draco nodded. It was classic style interrogation. Subject them to extreme temperatures to get them off balance and then show them their deepest fears. It was basically a liquid Boggart, but ten times more intense. While the potions were bad, they obviously hadn't had the chance to give Bill anything that would cause a bad reaction to pain medicines, something they sometimes did to people who were going to be rescued so the act of healing the victims nearly killed them.

Draco pulled out another pain potion, and then a blood replenishing one and held them to Bill's lips so he could drink.

"You should take one too," said Bill. "Your back is bleeding."

Draco had almost forgotten about the dull ache in his back, but Bill's words reignited the flames.

"I'm fine," he said, not wanting to take the potion. Bill needed it more, besides, he had to stay alert. Rule 8: Avoid pain medications.

There were a series of shouts outside that caused Draco to peek out the window that was partially boarded up. The Death Eaters were on the perimeter of the house and were throwing hexes in their general directions, but they had no effect and were simply being absorbed into the barrier.

Voldemort appeared from the woods. Draco couldn't quite catch the conversation but he had a feeling that Voldemort was severely displeased because he cast quite a few crucios. The Death Eaters all bowed to him, placating their lord, or at least trying to. It was actually rather funny, but he noticed Bill was tensing slightly at the screams.

"They can't get in," he said to his professor. "It's warded."

He glanced back out the window to see the masses kneeling before the lord they loved, but love is weakness; weaknesses can be exploited. It is the quickest way to pain (Rule 15). And that just went to show that you really couldn't trust anyone (Rule 17), not even your lord.

Draco froze slightly. Voldemort now knew that Bill was the spy, which meant that his and Bill's delicate balance of secrets (Draco not telling Bill was a spy and Bill not telling that Draco was a genius) was suddenly no longer balanced. Bill could tell anyone he wanted to about Draco and there would be no consequences on him.

Draco looked at Bill. The professor was looking a little bit better and he was pushing himself higher up against the wall. He seemed to be realizing for the first time that he was out of the dungeons. He turned to Draco with one of his wide smiles.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

Draco looked at him a little warily, but he nodded and then stifled a yawn. Rule 5: Late night activities cause a lack of awareness. Use only when necessary.

"What's next?" asked Bill.

Draco shrugged. "Stay here until the Aurors arrive," he said, already thinking out a new plan.

"The Aurors are coming?" asked Bill, surprised. "Did you alert them?"

"Not yet," said Draco.

He realized that he was being rather vague and that Bill was looking at him a little funny, and he suddenly felt bad for what he was about to do, but he didn't feel bad enough to change his mind. Rule 17: Don't trust anyone, and his logic was telling him that the rule applied to everyone. He still felt guilty though, so he tried to make up for it.

"Are you feeling alright?" Draco asked.

"Can't complain, all things considering," said Bill. "Little cold though."

Draco transfigured a clean bandage into a thick, white blanket and helped Bill wrap it around himself.

"Better?" he asked.

Bill nodded. "Thanks."

That only made him feel worse, so he stood abruptly and walked to the window, looking out again.

"How are you going to call the Aurors?" asked Bill.

"The Dark Mark," said Draco. "I'm going to launch one." He pulled out his wand, fingering the smooth wood as he turned it over idly in his fingers.

"Bill," he said suddenly.

"Yeah?" asked Bill.

"I'm sorry," said Draco. He whirled around to the professor and pointed his wand at Bill's head.

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Bill firmly believed he was in hell. Never before had he hurt so much. The potion that caused his blood to boil had only been the beginning. The three Death Eaters had left and McNair had come in, introducing himself with a prolonged bout of the Cruciatus that had left Bill unconscious and he was roused by a booted foot ruthlessly pounding on his flesh. He had felt a rib crack and break from the ministrations.

Then he had been given a potion that slowly turned his bones into ice, not the numb cold, but the piercing cold that made him shake so badly he couldn't even curl up for warmth. Then, once that had worn off, it had been back to the Cruciatus accompanied by physical beatings where McNair would chain him upright and repeatedly punch or kick him. Two more ribs had given under that pressure and his entire chest was covered in black and blue marks.

The last potion had been the worst. He had seen his entire family slaughtered before his eyes while he screamed and begged. Ginny was the last to go and Bill had seen her raped and beaten before her throat was slit.

Afterwards, he had been beaten again where his jaw was broken by a powerful backhand, and his leg was smashed by a booted foot stomping on it repeatedly. Then he was slammed into a wall where his last rib was broken, subjected to the Cruciatus yet again until he coughed up blood because his throat was so overused and then McNair had left, and then Draco had come.

Bill honestly thought he was seeing things when he had first seen the kid, but then he had realized that there was no way he would have thought up such a crazy idea. Even now, leaning against the wall of an abandoned house with Draco right next to him, he could hardly believe it. The kid had no reason to rescue him as Claire hadn't even noticed the shout from Draco as he tried to stop Bill from taking page. Draco had done his part by trying to warn him. Bill had obviously impacted the kid more than he thought and was strangely touched that the kid liked him so much that he would risk his life to save his own.

He tensed when he heard the screams outside the window, knowing that only one thing can make a person scream like that and he didn't wish the Cruciatus on anyone.

"They can't get in," said Draco, and Bill looked up to see that Draco was looking at him, concern visible in his eyes. "It's warded."

Bill watched as Draco turned back to the window, and suddenly Draco's mask descended, as if he was hit by an unpleasant thought. Bill frowned at that, something wasn't right with Draco. He pushed that thought from his mind. Of course things weren't right, Draco had just saved his life and nearly gotten killed in the process. He glanced at Draco's back where he could see a tear in his shirt and a nasty gash, though it didn't appear to be too deep.

He shook his head in amazement. He was really out of there; he could hardly believe it. He pushed himself up a bit and turned back to Draco.

"Thank you," he said, completely grateful for his life.

Draco shot him a look he couldn't categorize, one that put him back on edge. He had a bad feeling.

"What's next?" he asked, wanting to get Draco to tell him what was going on.

Draco shrugged vaguely. "Stay here until the Aurors arrive."

"The Aurors are coming?" asked Bill, surprised. "Did you alert them?"

"Not yet," said Draco, even more obscurely.

Bill shot him a funny look and immediately Draco was trying to side track him.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked.

The Draco Malfoy that Bill knew would not ask that question twice, but he answered.

"Can't complain, all things considering," said Bill. "Little cold though."

Draco actually transfigured a clean bandage into a thick, white blanket and even helped Bill wrap it around himself.

"Better?" he asked and right then, Bill knew that he was right to worry. Something was very off.

He nodded. "Thanks."

Draco stood abruptly and walked to window, looking out again.

"How are you going to call the Aurors?" asked Bill, slipping his wand out of his pocket and held it by his leg out of sight.

"The Dark Mark," said Draco. "I'm going to launch one." He pulled out his wand and Bill watched as he turned it over idly in his fingers.

"Bill," he said suddenly.

"Yeah?" asked Bill, bracing himself.

"I'm sorry," said Draco. He whirled around to the professor and pointed his wand at Bill's head.

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Ohhhhhhhh, another cliff hanger! Oh, I am evil jumps up and down grinning gleefully and clapping hands So, if you are anxious to know exactly what it is Draco is going to do to poor Bill, leave a review! (you have to realize that I take sadistic pleasure in cliff hangers, they really give you sense of power)

BTW: _Reicio _is Latin for 'to throw back' or 'to drive back' and _antepilani _in Latin means 'front line soldiers', so the curse I made up is basically 'to throw back the front line of soldiers'. I figured that it sounds like something used in a war, and something Draco would know about.


	28. Death Eaters, pt II

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own 500 reviews! Thank you so much!

**Rachel**: lol, I did learn my lesson. They were the longest 13 seconds of my life.  
**Meirta**: It did make me update faster. I was like 'Oh no, a reviewer in distress! I must update now.'  
**Jess**: Still holding your breath? If so, it must be a world record. Here's the next chapter.  
**R2D2**: love the penname! And I'm glad your excited; I am too.  
**Gremlin**: Well, that is the million dollar question, isn't it? What is Draco going to do?  
**Jess**: I'm assuming you are a different Jess, than the above, hence I dub you Jess II. I thankee, Jess II, for you review and hope that you enjoy the next chapter.  
**Lucience**: McGonagall's a smart lady, she'll figure out Bill needs help. Thanks for reviewing.  
**Carlac**: Hi! Thanks for your review, it made me smile like this :-D.  
**Slim Shady**: It would defeat the purpose of the story to have Draco turn bad, you're right. So the question is: Did I just defeat the purpose of the story? Thanks for reviewing!  
**Lilith**: Begging on your knees? Cool. Thanks for the review.  
**Quinky**-**Dink**: No, I definitely wrote all of the chapters in order, and this one was just sort of a flash of inspiration to have all of the rules inside of it, thought it took me several tries to get all of the rules incorporated, until I got smart and started a checklist for all the rules. Thanks for the review, and now onto the story….

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Chapter 28

Death Eaters, pt 2

"_I'm sorry," said Draco. He whirled around to the professor and pointed his wand at Bill's head_.

"Oblivi-," Draco started, but then Bill raised his wand and he was shouting a spell as well. It was only a simple disarming spell but Draco was caught off guard and so his wand flew out of his hand and landed in a corner of the room.

For one split second, Draco stared, and then he was running for his wand but Bill yelled another spell.

"Incarcerous!"

Ropes shot from Bill's wand, latching onto him and wrapping about him tightly. He fell to the floor as the binds knotted themselves around his ankles and then finished tying his wrists behind his back as well. He wanted to scream as he struggled on the floor, trying to get the binds off, but the more he struggled, the tighter they became. He finally gave up once his wrists were rubbed raw and he felt himself losing circulation, going limp on the grime-encrusted floor boards and rolling on his side to glare at Bill. Rule 11: Never get blindsided by kindness.

"You were trying to obliviate me?" asked Bill, more shocked than confused so the question was more of an exclamation. "The hell was that for?" This time it was a question, a question with confusion and disbelief and a little bit of hurt in his voice.

Draco felt even guiltier at that and so responded rather harshly.

"You're a liability," he ground out, struggling with the bonds again. "No one knows that I went on this stupid mission to save your bloody life and I'm going to keep it that way."

"So you were going to wipe my memory?" asked Bill. "I won't say anything if you don't want me to."

"Sometimes you don't get a choice of what you say or don't say," said Draco. "The only reason the Dark Lord didn't have Veritaserum is because he doesn't trust Snape to make it anymore. What would have happened if he had it?"

"He didn't have it though," said Bill. "And at that time you hadn't rescued me."

"That's not the point!" said Draco, feeling the anger well up inside him. "The point is that I am screwed if anyone does find out that I helped you."

"No one's going to find out!" said Bill. "I know practically everyone in the Order and I didn't say a word to Voldemort about that."

"And what happens when the bloody Order wants to know how you escaped?" Draco shot back. "What are you going to tell them then?"

"That I managed to jump McNair and recovered my wand and escaped," said Bill. "They aren't going to put me under Veritaserum and I don't have to tell them the truth."

"Not even if I get the Mark and become a Death Eater?" asked Draco, sneering. "Are you going to tell them then?"

"No," said Bill firmly, his hazel eyes perfectly sincere. "You just have to trust me, Draco."

It all came down to that issue, didn't it? Trust, or the lack thereof. Draco looked away from Bill's burning gaze.

"I don't trust you," he said. "I don't trust anyone." The words were hollow and empty.

"Of course you do," said Bill quietly. "You trust that I won't tell everyone that you're a genius."

"That was only because I knew you were a spy," said Draco. "Your silence for my silence, right?"

Bill was quiet for a moment, but then he looked up at Draco. "It was never like that," he said. "I was never going to tell your secret."

"So you say," spat Draco, giving a frustrated grunt when he couldn't even budge the ropes. Right now, if he wanted to, Bill could turn him into the Death Eaters. Bill seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"You know," he said, "I could turn you in right now. Just levitate you out of the door and hand you over to them."

Draco turned to Bill with slightly panicked eyes.

"Of course," said Bill, "I'm not going to do that. We're _friends_, Draco. We don't turn each other in, we save each other, like you saved me."

"Do friends tie other friends up?" Draco asked scathingly.

"Do you promise not to obliviate me?" asked Bill.

"Yes," said Draco, knowing that the response would set him free.

"Alright," said Bill steadily. "I'm going to trust you."

He banished the ropes and Draco immediately took off for his wand, grabbing it and whirling on Bill.

"That was stupid," said Draco, leveling his wand at Bill.

Bill slowly put his own wand on the floor and then looked up at Draco with clear eyes that simply said 'if you must'.

A million voices in Draco's head told him to obliviate the professor, to obliviate everything that Bill remembered about him.

"If I do get a say in this," said Bill, seeming to read his mind again, "I would like to remember you."

_I would like to remember you_. Six words. How could six words make him feel so pleased, guilty, and confused all at once? He could hear his self-preservation screaming at him to obliviate Bill, but his body was responding to another voice, one that was saying that Bill was a friend, that he liked Bill, and so his wand arm fell loosely at his side.

Draco walked over to the wall and slowly sat, leaning against the wood and closing his eyes. Sweet Merlin, he could be discovered or turned into Voldemort, and all he could think was 'I hope Bill doesn't hate me after that'.

He opened his eyes and turned his head to Bill. "I'm sorry," he said, and he was. He had always known deep down that Bill would never do something like that, but he had gotten scared, had been frightened at the idea of someone knowing so much about him, and he had almost obliviated his only friend.

"It's fine," said Bill, letting out a breath of relief and smiling reassuringly at him. "It's all okay."

Draco nodded slightly, swallowing hard.

"How about we get those Aurors then," said Bill, letting his head fall back against the wall and his face suddenly going pale. Draco was alarmed at the sudden white of his profe-his _friend_. He cursed himself for being such an idiot. Casting spells was not something someone did after just being tortured. Casting takes energy, energy that Bill didn't have a lot of to spare.

He ran over to put a hand on Bill's head and pulled back when he felt the heat. Not good.

Draco ran to the window and shouted out "Morsmordre!"

The Dark Mark shot into the sky, the skull grinning down on the Death Eaters below. That would alert the Ministry, which would send Aurors, who would attack and then Voldemort would take down the Apparating barrier so Draco and Bill could get out of there.

He ran back to Bill's side, noticing the closed eyes and shaking him slightly.

"Bill, wake up," he said. "You have to stay awake, alright?" With all of the trauma Bill had gone through, Draco knew that if Bill did fall asleep, he may slip into a coma.

"Tired," said Bill, trying to blink open his eyes.

"I know," said Draco, "but the Aurors will be coming soon and you have to stay awake, so, I don't know, talk to me or something. Tell me what it was like growing up with all those siblings."

"Hurts," said Bill, his hand going up to touch his jaw, but not quite making it.

Draco dug around for the pain ointment and spread some more on Bill's jaw. They were out of the actual potion.

"Don't talk then," he said. "Just stay awake."

"You talk to me," said Bill, groaning slightly as he tried to push himself up some more. "Tell me what it was like as an only child."

Draco paused, averting his gaze for a minute, but then looked back at Bill who was watching him through pain-filled, tired eyes.

"I wasn't always an only child," he said, and Bill suddenly looked a little more awake. "I had a brother; his name was Lukas." He stared off at the wall as he remembered. "He was illegitimate, so no one really knew he existed, except the family. He was older than me by over ten years, I think. He'd be about your age if he was still alive."

He glanced at Bill and saw the surprised, but sympathetic expression on the teacher's face.

"You would have liked him," Draco told Bill. "He liked to laugh a lot. I never saw him except for summers because he was in school and what not, but during the summer, he was always taking me places, to zoos and parks, a few museums. He even took me to Italy once to see the Leaning Tower of Pisa."

"What happened?" Bill asked, his voice coming out like a croak.

"He fell in love with a Muggle girl," said Draco. "He told the family one summer that he was getting married and then-," he cut off, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as a lump formed in his throat like it always did when he thought about Lukas. "He was talking to us in the parlor with this huge smile on his face. He said that she was perfect and that he loved her and then grand-mère cast the Avada on him from behind. One minute he was smiling, the next there was a green light and he was falling, but he was still smiling, even when he died."

"How old were you?" Bill managed.

"I was seven," said Draco. "We moved here a year after Lukas died because Lucius couldn't take being there summers without him. He never said that was why, of course, but I knew it. Grand-mère died a few months before we left. I'm pretty sure Lucius killed her, and I'm glad he did. That's why you don't have to worry about Lucius hitting me. After Lukas, he wouldn't do anything to hurt me."

Bill nodded, understanding filling his eyes. Draco felt his throat start to burn and he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure building up.

"S'okay to cry," said Bill, his voice ragged but comforting and kind.

Draco gave a bitter laugh. "I don't cry," he said, opening his eyes again and blinking a few times.

"It's not weak to cry," said Bill, struggling to talk even though he looked ready to collapse. Draco cut him off.

"Lucius himself cried at Lukas' funeral," he said. "I didn't because I don't cry. I can't."

Bill shot him a questioning look.

"When I was born," said Draco explaining, "the medi-witch gave me to Narcissa to hold while she cleaned up. I was a newborn, so naturally I was crying. While the medi-witch left the room for something, Narcissa placed an anti-crying charm on me. However, because she didn't see me again until I was five and because she didn't tell anyone the charm stayed on until I was seven. Lucius figured out that I couldn't cry when Lukas died. He had the charm taken off, but when such charms are left on for so long, they have a permanent effect. I cannot cry. I haven't been able to since the day I was born."

Bill looked outraged at that, but the look was somewhat dampened by the fact that he also looked sick. Draco was a little worried for the professor, but then he heard shouts outside, and fighting. He peeked out the window to see that the Aurors had arrived and then helped Bill up so he could see as well.

"I'm going to leave you here," Draco told him. "I don't want to try Apparating back with you because you're so hurt, plus, you'll get faster treatment this way when the Aurors find you."

"Are they looking for me?" asked Bill.

"I trashed your room, and the professors know that you're missing. I think they can put two and two together."

"Trashed my room?" Bill asked.

"Nothing big," said Draco. He set Bill down again and gathered up his things, even taking the transfigured blanket, just so no one would know he was there, finally pulling on the invisibility cloak. He waited until all of the Aurors had chased away the Death Eaters and he knew that the wards were gone, so he dropped the wards around the house and then banged on the window.

An Auror looked up and Draco shouted "Hey, in here!"

The Auror called a buddy over and they started up the steps.

"See you Bill," said Draco.

"Be safe," said Bill.

Draco Apparated back to Hogwarts. It was surprisingly easy getting back to his dormitory as the older Slytherins were having a late party and the younger students were in bed. He went straight for the bathroom, pulling off his clothes as he went and locking the bathroom door behind him.

All things considered, he wasn't in bad shape. He mended the cut on his face and found some anti-bruising cream to rub on his shoulder. The gash on his back was a little harder to deal with because it is extremely hard to heal oneself. Healing with a wand is basically the act of transferring a bit of energy from Healer to patient as the proper spells are said, and it is impossible to give energy to yourself. Smaller cuts are easier to deal with, because they don't require energy-transfer, but anything larger than a cut does. That is also why potions are so helpful. They do the same thing as spells, but without draining the Healer, so wounds can be taken care of by the injured person.

Draco did not have any potions for a larger wound, and so he settled with giving the slice a thorough washing in the shower, and once he was done getting the rest of the grime off of him and stepped out of the shower, he taped a bandage over it. He cleaned his dirty clothes with a spell and then took them into the dorm and shoved them in the bottom of his trunk.

He pulled on another pair of black pants and a black t-shirt and repaired the tear in the invisibility cloak where the knife had torn it. Once finished, he pulled on a pair of shoes, threw the cloak over him and snuck into the infirmary, taking a position in an empty corner.

He didn't have to wait long. Two Aurors came out of the Floo carrying a stretcher between them with Bill on it. Madame Pomfrey had a bed ready for the professor and within moments Bill was wearing hospital pajama pants while Pomfrey poured potions down his throat and then swathed his back, which was almost entirely all black and blue, with healing ointment and bandages.

Dumbledore and McGonagall came rushing in a few minutes later once Bill was settled back in bed and while McGonagall went straight to Bill's side, Dumbledore went to Pomfrey.

"How is he?" Dumbledore asked the medi-witch and Draco shifted closer to the conversation.

"All things considering," said Pomfrey in confusion, "in surprisingly good condition. He has a broken jaw, four broken ribs, and a broken leg. He has an amazing amount of bruising and it's a wonder he was able to get out at all when he was hurt that badly. If I didn't see the proof right before my eyes, I would say that someone in that condition escaping unaided is an impossibility…," she trailed off, giving the figure on the bed an odd look.

"What is it?" asked Dumbledore.

"It's just that- that I almost wonder if he did have help. For someone with that many cuts and bruises and broken bones, I would be fearful of death due to blood loss, especially since he was in motion practically all night, but his blood levels are fine, almost as if he had a blood replenishing potion before he got here."

"Did the Aurors give him anything?" asked Dumbledore.

"No," said Pomfrey. "They gave him some pain medication and took his story while they set up an emergency portkey and while they Floo-ed him here, but that was it."

Dumbledore looked at Bill thoughtfully for a moment.

"Have his parents been notified yet?" he asked Pomfrey.

"Not yet," said the medi-witch. "Since you know the particulars, I'll let you do the explaining, though from what I gather, telling them the whole story might be a good idea."

Dumbledore smiled at that. "Yes, I suppose it would. I trust that I have your discretion on this matter?"

"And every other matter I come across," said Pomfrey, giving him a smile of her own.

"Thank you Poppy," said Dumbledore, and he too, went to stand by Bill's bed.

Draco could hear part of what Bill was saying now. "-so I just grabbed my wand and ran," he said. "I don't remember really what happened after that. I know I made it to a house of some sort and collapsed in there. The Death Eaters were just starting to come in when the Aurors came, but I'm still a little foggy on most of the events. I'm sorry I can't remember more."

"William," said Dumbledore, and Draco smirked at the use of Bill's first name, "I understand from the Aurors that Claire Jameson is working for Voldemort?"

"Yeah," said Bill. "I had no clue."

"Neither did we," said Dumbledore. "As for your escape, were you aided by anyone through the night?"

"Aided?" Bill asked, confusion and weariness in his voice. Draco smirked; Bill was an excellent actor.

"I'm sorry," said Dumbledore. "I'll let you sleep in a few moments; it's just that Pomfrey says that you are in remarkably good shape for someone in your condition and that your blood level shouldn't be so high."

Bill was silent for a moment and then he spoke up. "I know this may sound weird," he said, "I must have been hallucinating or something from the potions they kept giving me, but I could have sworn there was…," he trailed off and then asked, "Do you believe in angels?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe," said Dumbledore. "Do you believe that you saw an angel?"

"I think there was a…presence helping me," said Bill carefully, not exactly lying but definitely giving them the wrong impression. "I only got glimpse of it from time to time, but it was almost as if it helped me escape."

Draco had to put his hands over his mouth to keep from laughing at that. Yes, Bill had only gotten a glimpse of him from time to time because of the invisibility cloak, but comparing him to an angel was absolutely ridiculous.

"Stranger things have been known to happen," said Dumbledore, apparently satisfied at the answer. "And angel or not, I'm glad that it was there for you."

"Me too," said Bill quietly.

"Well then, I'll let you rest," said Dumbledore. He and McGonagall moved away, but then Dumbledore turned back. "Just out of curiosity, William," he said, "what made you think it was an angel?"

Bill smiled slightly. "I'm pretty sure it was a blonde," he said simply.

Dumbledore chuckled at that and the two older professors left the room.

Draco shook his head at Bill, even though his friend couldn't see him. Honestly, him, an angel? He thought about saying hello to Bill, but the professor was already half asleep and he had been through a lot. Draco silently left the room, and then went for his own bed.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Three days. He had been in the hospital wing for three days and Pomfrey assured him it would be at least another four. The potions had given him a rather bad fever as all of the toxins left his blood stream and he was still sore from the beatings.

He had woken up to see his entire family around his bed and his mother had promptly burst into tears, telling him that if he ever did such a thing again, she would lock him in a room forever. Dumbledore had told them everything, something that Bill was both thankful and regretful for. He hated lying to his family, but at the same time his mother was pitching a fit.

His father however seemed to be quite proud of him, though extremely glad he was safe. His other siblings had thought him rather cool for spying like that, though Charlie made him promise not to do so again, at least not without telling them first.

Bill readily agreed and then Fleur had come and they had spent a joyful two days together, but Fleur was busy learning how to become a clothing designer for wizards and she had to leave after that. His family had left as well, though they often came in the day to visit him. But right now, it was the middle of the night and he couldn't sleep.

He had been having nightmares recently, ones that involved him being back in the dungeon and seeing his family slaughtered around him or being tortured again or running away but never running fast enough. It always ended though with the picture of a blond boy lying on the ground in a puddle of red liquid and with one lone drop of blood running down his face like a scarlet tear.

Bill knew that having nightmares after an ordeal like he went through was perfectly normal, in fact, it would be normal not to have them, but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel frustrated at the fact. He was perfectly fine; he was safe now. So why couldn't he sleep without waking up and screaming bloody murder?

He sighed and pulled the white blanket up a little higher around him and for some reason flashed back to sitting with Draco in the house.

_Draco transfigured a clean bandage into a thick, white blanket and helped Bill wrap it around himself._

"_Better?" he asked and right then, Bill knew that he was right to worry. Something was very off._

_He nodded. "Thanks."_

_Draco stood abruptly and walked to window, looking out again._

"_How are you going to call the Aurors?" asked Bill, slipping his wand out of his pocket and held it by his leg out of sight._

"_The Dark Mark," said Draco. "I'm going to launch one." He pulled out his wand and Bill watched as he turned it over idly in his fingers._

"_Bill," he said suddenly._

"_Yeah?" asked Bill, bracing himself._

"_I'm sorry," said Draco. He whirled around to the professor and pointed his wand at Bill's head._

"_Oblivi-," he only got that far before Bill's own wand was up and he was yelling "Expelliarmus!" _

_Had he been stronger, Draco's wand would have flown to his hand, but it was all he could do to actually cast spell. _

_He could see the shock in Draco's eyes for a split second before he ran for his wand and so he cast the binding charm and the kid fell to floor with the ropes knotting themselves around him. He watched as Draco struggled with the bonds in a panic and he felt bad for doing that to the kid, but he was still shocked that Draco was going to obliviate him. After everything they had gone through. And so he asked why, and immediately understood._

Bill shook his head as he remembered. Draco had been so afraid Bill would turn him in, and so Bill did the only thing he could. He had let Draco go; he had given him the trust that he wanted Draco to have in him. And Draco had trusted him, even though Bill had been a little fearful for a few moments there.

But Draco had also trusted him with Lukas. He remembered the kid telling the story about his brother with clear mercury eyes and wondered if Draco thought of him as an older brother the way he thought of Draco as a younger brother. He had wanted to reach over when Draco had finished the story and give him a hug, but he knew Draco would be uncomfortable and he could hardly move, but still, the kid had looked as if he wanted to cry.

But Draco didn't cry, Bill reminded himself. No, he _couldn't_ cry. He wondered what that was like, going through your whole life without shedding a tear in sadness or in joy. He couldn't imagine.

Bill shook his head again to clear it and sighed. He was bored.

"Bored?" asked a voice next to him and Bill jumped, but then saw the form of Draco Malfoy slowly appear as the kid pulled off the invisibility cloak.

"It's about time you came," he told the teen, pretending to be crosser than he was.

"Not my fault you were surrounded by your family the entire time," said Draco, shrugging. "You never did tell me what it was like growing up with all those people."

"Loud," said Bill. "Very loud and rowdy because the majority of us were boys. But it was fun too."

Draco nodded, then caught sight of all of the potions on the bedside table next to Bill.

"How bad off are you?" he asked, picking them up and holding them up towards the moonlit window to see what they were.

"I'm getting better," said Bill. "Most of them are just precautionary."

Draco nodded again, setting them down.

"You know," said Bill, "I never really got the chance to thank you properly."

"'Course you did," said Draco. "You said so in the house."

"Yeah," said Bill, "but that was during a stressful situation, so I just want you to know, that I am extremely thankful that you got me out."

Draco scoffed slightly. "It was nothing," he said, shrugging, but his cheeks were slightly flushed so Bill knew that his thanks were not disregarded.

"Something I was wondering, Draco," he said, deciding against embarrassing Draco further even though he wished to. The kid had saved his life after all; he supposed he could cut him a break. "How did you do magic outside of school without being caught?"

"Voldemort's wards protect against the Ministry knowing what spells are used," said Draco.

"But when you Apparated in, you weren't in his wards, so how come the Ministry didn't get you?"

Draco smirked slightly. "I _may_ have a wand that operates without the Ministry's knowledge, but if you say anything, I'll deny it vehemently."

"You have an unregistered wand?" asked Bill incredulous.

Draco shrugged. "I know people," he said vaguely.

"You know people?" Bill asked, but then he changed his mind when Draco went to answer. "Forget it," he said, holding up a hand. "I don't want to know."

Draco smiled at that and Bill did too.

"Do you want anything?" asked Draco suddenly. "I seem to remember that you brought me some books when I was locked in here, so I suppose I should return the favor."

Bill chuckled. "I think I've read the entire library by now," he said, only halfway joking.

"I don't mean library books," said Draco. "I was going to offer _Hogwarts: A Dark History_."

Bill was actually mildly intrigued. "Do you have it on you?" he asked.

"I didn't," said Draco, "But I ordered you a copy."

Draco retrieved a thick book from where it was hidden in the folds of the invisibility cloak and handed it to Bill.

"It will look just like Hogwarts: A History to anyone who doesn't know what it is," said Draco. "If you tell them what it really is, they'll be able to read it as well. I marked the passages that are proven to be true, since most of it is just based on rumor."

Bill stared at the book in his hands and then looked up at Draco.

"Thank you," he said.

Draco shrugged. "It's just a recovery gift," he said.

"Recovery gift?" asked Bill.

"Lucius always buys me stuff when I'm sick," said Draco. "I think it's because he feels guilty that he's not around a lot."

"What kind of gifts?" asked Bill.

"A trip to Spain, some new thestrals, top box seats at the Quidditch World Cup," said Draco, listing them off as if they were nothing. Bill was suddenly reminded what very different worlds they lived in.

"We didn't get toys," said Bill, "but while we were sick our mother would make us chicken soup with ginger ale to drink. Then in the evening she would wrap us up in a blanket, sit us on her lap in the rocking chair, and read us stories out of this huge book of fairy tales. It was almost worth getting sick just to have mum coddle us like that."

He smiled at the memory and glanced at Draco who had an odd expression on his face, as if he couldn't quite picture what Bill was saying.

"Your mother sounds nice," said Draco after a while.

"She is," said Bill. He watched as Draco didn't look convinced and reached out to place a hand on Draco's arm. "Not all mothers are like yours," he said.

"I know," said Draco quickly, but then he let out a breath in what was almost laughter. "It's just a new concept for me, I guess. I've never really met any other mothers, so I suppose I stereotype slightly."

"Understandable," said Bill. "We all stereotype about Malfoys."

This time Draco actually laughed, though it was softly. "I suppose I don't really help in that area."

"Hell no," said Bill. "On the train ride up, Ron, Hermione, and Harry were trying to convince me you were pure evil. I was a little worried that you were a miniature Voldemort."

He grinned, to let Draco know that he was teasing, and Draco returned the smile, then got up.

"I should probably let you sleep," said Draco. "I'll put the cloak in your room."

"Speaking of that cloak," said Bill. "How on earth did you get it? I thought the doors were supposed to be spell-resistant."

"They are," said Draco. "I picked the lock."

"You picked the…," asked Bill, trailing off at the smirk on Draco's face. "Just when I think I know you," said Bill, shaking his head. Draco looked rather smug, so Bill glared, but it was interrupted by a violent yawn.

"Goodnight, Bill," said Draco.

"Don't go yet," said Bill. "I'm bored."

"You need to sleep," said Draco.

"I'm not tired," said Bill, and then he realized that he had just left himself wide open for a sarcastic remark. Draco did not disappoint.

"Just close your eyes for five minutes," said the teen, smirking wickedly. "And you'll fall right to sleep."

Bill made a face at Draco, who merely smirked even wider and then turned to leave.

"If I tell you 'thanks' again, would it be redundant?" asked Bill, just as Draco opened the door.

Draco turned back. "I'm sure you would have done the same for me, so yes, getting redundant. Goodnight."

"'Night," said Bill. He waited until Draco left and then closed his eyes and decided to take his own advice_. Well what do you know?_ he thought as he drifted off,_ it actually works_.

He had no nightmares that night.

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See, no cliffhanger! Aren't you happy? Like one more chapter to this story, and then an epilogue and then 'el finito', rather depressing for me.


	29. Decisions

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I own a pool or air conditioning, so the heat wave that has come over upstate NY is most uncool, no pun intended.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm awfully sorry I didn't reply to some reviewers, but that was when the website was experiencing some difficulties, so for everyone out there who didn't get a reply that wanted one: Thank you for reviewing! I love you all! Oh yeah, and because my beta is on vacation (have fun Ada!), all mistakes that are made are mine, and hopefully there aren't that many of them, but I apologize if there are.

WARNING: Draco uses a bad word in this chapter, however, because it's only one, and because you can use one f-word in a pg-13 movie, I'm not changing the rating. If it offends you, don't read. Although I am not one for swearing, and I never do swear, sometimes situations just call for it, you know what I mean?

**Meirta**: Yeah, I just couldn't see Draco still liking Lucius if his father had killed Lukas, besides, I'm trying to make Lucius somewhat understandable. I'm glad you liked the twist  
**Dbi626**: There will indeed be a sequel coming, and there will be more information about that in the epilogue, which will be posted shortly  
**Chicklepea**: The sequel is coming, and I started getting ideas for it while on chapter 5 of this story, so it will hopefully be good  
**Lilith**: Yup, this story is coming to a close (just the epilogue left), but there is a sequel!  
**Kely5**: I'm glad you liked the chapters, and sorry this one was kind of a long wait  
**Beccaboo991**: Happy Birthday! And I'm glad you liked the chapters. (Do you feel older?)  
**R2D2**: Thank you very much (preens slightly in front of laptop)  
**Andi**: Thanks! I'm glad that you like the story  
**QuinkyDink**: lol, it's probably a bad thing that it took so long to update, summer has come and I am being a procrastinator, I mean I feel guilty that it took so long, but at the same time, not guilty enough to actually motivate myself

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Draco did not see Bill again until the end of the school year. The professor had just been released from the infirmary when representatives from the Ministry arrived. It turned out that Claire Jameson had been one of the Death Eaters captured during Bill's 'miraculous' escape and so Bill was called in to testify against her in one of the largest court cases of the decade.

McGonagall took to teaching Ancient Runes, which became one of Draco's most hated subjects in the few weeks before school let out. He began hanging out at Hagrid's more often, under the pretense of having to train Orion more, even though the thestral was very quick to learn whatever Draco taught him.

Draco missed talking to Bill, and having a friendly face on the faculty, but in a way he was also glad for it. It gave him time to think.

He had disobeyed his rules in trusting Bill, but nothing bad had happened. If anything, he was better off now that he didn't follow his code when he could have wiped Bill's memory. He could have merely taken out rule number seventeen and kept the rest of the code because they actually had been helpful, but he kept thinking about what Bill had said about the idea of a personal code, and had come to his own realizations.

The code, while useful in some situations, couldn't account for all of the possible circumstances Draco might find himself in. While a few guiding rules (or morals, as Bill would say) would be necessary, a code would only limit his options. He couldn't respond the same way to every situation, sometimes there would be exceptions to make, and he couldn't do that while following the rules. So Draco had put his journal away. He didn't really know what to do with it.

He also had other things to worry about, like the Dark Mark. The school was in an uproar during the days while Bill was in the hospital, partly because the debate, from what Draco had gathered, turned out to be little more than a way to insult people in public, and because of the fact that yet another Death Eater was working in Hogwarts. Because both teachers had been assigned by the Ministry, most of the parents were enraged and calling down curses – literally – on Fudge's head. Several mothers were arrested for threatening the Minister, but they were released later that day once Rita Skeeter got a hold of the story.

But, once the initial shock wore off, students returned to their studies with renewed vigor and exams came with much dread and sweat.

Draco passed his exams easily, though from looking at his study habits and his scores, he would appear to have been a hard working student who received better-than-average grades, but nothing spectacular. He knew he would receive straight E's yet again by owl over the summer, the only question was, where would he be? If he refused the Dark Mark, he would have to leave, but where and how?

The last day of school dawned bright and clear. Students would be leaving Saturday morning at ten, and still Bill didn't show up. Draco found that he would really like to see the professor before going home. He had received an owl earlier that week saying that Lucius himself would be picking him up at the station, which would be a first, and later that night Draco would attend the initiation.

Draco went to his classes, but didn't really pay attention to anything the teachers were saying, not that anyone was, and then wandered outside once the last school day was finished. It was hard to believe school was over already, but at the same time, so hard to believe that he had gotten on the train only nine months ago. So many things had happened, so many things had changed. Hell, he had changed, and he hadn't known that was possible.

He knew he should feel terrified about having to take the Dark Mark, or having to deny it, but he was oddly detached and calm about it. He still had no clue what he was going to do, but he wasn't worried. If he wasn't Draco Malfoy, he would have said he felt peaceful, at rest with himself, but the idea of Draco Malfoy being peaceful was preposterous.

Just to prove to himself how preposterous it was, he went into the library to find something extremely difficult to read to challenge himself. He ended up with the Portkey book Claire had been looking at and began to skim it over. It actually looked interesting, so he disengaged the property marker in the spine, put it in his bag, and walked out with it. He would return it the next year.

Down in the Slytherin rooms, most everyone was packing up. It only took two flicks from Draco's wand, and all of his belongings were shoved neatly away in his trunk, and once again, he had nothing to do.

He caught sight of his journal lying on top of his clothes and had half a mind to take it outside and burn it, but somehow it just didn't seem fitting, so he merely shoved it in his school bag along with his books to read on the train ride home and went to visit Buckbeak for the last time and say his good-byes.

He got up early Saturday with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. Today was the day. He pulled on some clothes and was out the door by the time the other boys were beginning to stir for breakfast, taking his school bag with him with hopes to read more in the portkey book in a quiet nook somewhere to calm his nerves. He wandered the castle, inevitably winding up by the Ancient Runes classroom. He had expected it to be empty, but there was someone inside.

He pushed open the door to see Bill Weasley cleaning out his desk. and he looked up when Draco entered and shut the door behind him.

"Heya, Draco," he said, grinning widely.

"Hello," said Draco, looking Bill over critically. The teacher looked much better than the last time Draco had seen him, much more at ease, and it was impossible to tell that a few weeks before he had been tortured by a madman.

"Sorry I haven't been around," said Bill, taking a break from emptying his desk. "I was going to grab you after breakfast to say hello, but you found me first."

"Don't you mean good-bye?" asked Draco, letting his bag drop to the floor and perching on a desk. "How was the trial?"

Bill made a face. "I hate lawyers," he said

"I used to want to be a lawyer," Draco mused.

"You'd be good at it," said Bill. "Loud, obnoxious, think they know it all."

"But that's why I'd make a good one," said Draco, "I do know it all."

Bill laughed, and sat on a nearby desk. "I don't suppose you've come up with any inspirational insights on the Persian Runes than, have you, Mr. I-do-know-it-all?"

Draco shook his head. "Lend me a few scrolls and give me a few months and maybe," he said.

"It's a deal," said Bill. He jumped off his desk and began searching around his boxes before pulling out a few notebooks and handing them to Draco. "I thought you might want to keep working on the runes so I made these for you. They have everything we've done so far on the runes plus all the references to keep you going for a while."

Draco took the notebooks with a smile of anticipation. "Thanks," he said, opening his bag to put them in and spotting his journal that he had shoved in there. "I have something for you as well," he said, pulling out the small leather-bound book and handing it to Bill.

"What is it?" asked Bill.

Draco shrugged. "You seemed convinced that my code idea was wrong and I realized that you had a point." He watched Bill open the journal and skim over the rules. "So I figured, since you were responsible for changing my view, you could have it."

It was a rather sentimental gesture and the first of any kind Draco had ever made and he felt slightly awkward afterwards, but Bill looked as if he were holding the staff of Merlin.

"Thank you," said Bill, looking up at him with his sincere hazel eyes.

Merlin, Draco would actually miss Bill and his sincerity, his caring, and he knew, that if he got the Dark Mark, he would never see Bill again. He wouldn't let himself see Bill again because, if he did get the Dark Mark, he might have to kill him. That thought was sobering and he could feel that tightening of his throat he hated so much.

He walked abruptly to the window, facing away from Bill because he couldn't quite get control of his facial muscles. He should have remembered how observant Bill was.

"What's wrong?" asked Bill, coming to stand behind him, but far enough away to give him space.

"Nothing," said Draco, his voice coming out slightly strained.

"Bull," said Bill. "You can't lie to me anymore."

Draco sighed, resting his head on the cool glass. "Did you know I've been scheduled to get the Dark Mark since the year began?"

He could hear a sharp intake of breath behind him and he managed to smirk.

"Didn't know you were befriending such a dangerous person, did you?"

"You're not getting it, are you?" asked Bill.

Draco shrugged.

"How can you even consider it?" asked Bill.

"Not like I really get a choice," said Draco, feeling much more calm about it now that someone else was worked up.

"You don't have to go Draco," said Bill. "I'll help, the Order will help and…I suppose you've already thought this through."

Draco turned at that, smirking slightly at Bill. "You keep forgetting I'm a genius, don't you?"

"Just because you're a genius doesn't mean you know best," Bill returned gently.

"True," Draco allowed.

Bill studied him for a moment. "There are circumstances, aren't there?" he asked. "Things that are making you stay."

"There are."

"You don't know what you are going to do."

It was a simple statement, but one that summed up everything.

"Life isn't supposed to be this complicated," said Draco reflectively.

"I suppose it depends on how complex your mind can actually see things," said Bill.

"Interesting theory," said Draco.

"When are you…scheduled?" asked Bill.

"Tonight," said Draco.

"Tonight?" asked Bill. "As in, today?"

Draco felt his lips twitch. "That's the one."

"You, but, I mean…," Bill trailed off, or more like cut himself off before he started babbling. He tried again. "That's a shock, not to mention rather, uh, soon."

"Yeah," said Draco quietly.

Outside in the halls they could hear students running down to get to breakfast before the carriages left to take them to the train station.

"I think that's my cue," said Draco, picking up his bag. "It's been nice, Bill." He held out his hand to shake, but Bill pulled him into a hug. Draco stiffened at first, an involuntary action, but then he relaxed and returned the embrace awkwardly.

Bill pulled back, still holding onto his shoulders, and looking him in the eyes. "You be careful, alright?"

"Sure," said Draco.

"And no matter what happens, and I mean no matter what, you can always come if you need help, got that?"

Draco smiled. "Thanks."

"No problem, and happy early birthday."

Draco grinned at that and walked out the door, leaving the Professor staring after him with a concerned look in his eyes.

The train ride was relatively uneventful, unlike other ones in the past with run-ins with the Golden Trio. Blaise did stop by his compartment to say hi accompanied by his Gryffindor friends, but Draco just wasn't up to being spiteful, and they seemed to sense that something serious was happening because they didn't say anything either.

They reached the station in the late afternoon and Draco changed out of his school robes into the black pants and trousers. He glanced out the window when they finally pulled in and saw that Lucius was indeed there to pick him up, gathering looks of disgust from some of the parents, but as usual, he was completely unaffected, and his cold, cold gaze was enough to make the most lethal of glares turn away from the intimidation. Not Draco though.

Just last summer he had felt unease and apprehension when he was the object of his father's stare, but now, he felt no anxiety, no slight tinge of fear. He knew why. He had grown this last year; he was his own man and Lucius had no power over him. So when he stepped off of the train, dragging his trunk behind him, and Lucius' steely eyes turned to him, he felt nothing.

He felt like laughing in elation, though the impulse was easily stifled. He was careful to keep his expression guarded as well so Lucius wouldn't know anything had happened. His father knew anyway. With one look into the grey eyes that were so similar to his own, Lucius knew that his son was different. He was stronger, independent, mature. And Draco knew that Lucius knew.

"Come," said Lucius. "We're eating out today, at the Zodiac."

Draco raised an eyebrow. The Zodiac was the most expensive, most stylish restaurant in Diagon Alley. He handed his trunk to the house elf who had accompanied Lucius, and the elf and trunk disappeared with a pop! and did not return.

The trip to Diagon Alley was made in silence, in fact Lucius said nothing to him until they reached the restaurant and were shown to their table which was set off slightly from the rest.

"How was school?" Lucius asked, idly looking over the menu.

"Tolerable," said Draco.

"I hear that you did not take part in the debate," said Lucius, again idly, but Draco knew that it was a specific question that he had better answer right.

"The debate was nothing more than two hours of public insults," he said. "You have raised me better than to take part in such displays."

Flattery will get you most anywhere, though Lucius still studied him carefully.

"You need a haircut," he said finally.

Draco brushed his hair out of his eyes and figured he probably did. His hair almost hit his shoulders.

"I trust your grades are acceptable?" asked Lucius, drawing his gaze back to his menu.

"Mostly E's," said Draco, feeling a fleeting sense of deja vu.

Lucius must have felt it as well because he glanced up, his eyes narrowed. Draco wondered if for a split second he figured it out, but the grey eyes turned back to the paper he was holding. Once the food was served however, he turned his attention back onto Draco.

"Our lord is looking forward to seeing you again later tonight," he said. "Others will be there as well to enter into his service."

"Who else?" asked Draco.

"Nott's boy, Crabbe and Goyle of course, and a few others from Durmstrang."

"Pansy?" asked Draco, trying to sound casual.

"No," said Lucius. "She is apparently going into politics, though she will be at the ceremony."

Draco smiled at that; Pansy was a clever girl. The Dark Lord never marked those who would be going into the Ministry as it was too obvious; however Lucius would never let him get away with eluding his duties to the Dark Lord like that.

"You'll be seventeen tomorrow."

"Yes, father," said Draco.

"That means the money in your personal vaults will be yours at midnight."

Draco nodded.

"Then we will have to go down to the offices tomorrow so you can learn what we are doing there, and of course, stop by Gringotts and put you in as an adult heir instead of a minor."

Not if I'm gone, thought Draco, but he nodded again.

"Is there anything specific you wish to do tomorrow?" asked Lucius suddenly.

Draco looked up at that, his brows furrowing.

"You are, of course, turning seventeen, so I decided to take off of work if you wished to go anywhere."

"Go anywhere," repeated Draco, not quite comprehending.

Lucius shifted so minutely Draco almost didn't catch it.

"I realize that I have been absent for most of your birthdays," he said, "but since I haven't seen you much for these past two years and because it is a rather large milestone to turn seventeen I thought we should do something. We could take a trip to France or across the Mediterranean if you wish."

"I would like that," said Draco, feeling a spear of pain in his chest. The one time Lucius would be there for his birthday, and he had no clue where he would be. His father had simply come too late. "I would like that a lot."

They didn't speak much for the rest of the meal, and then they Floo-ed home, Lucius telling Draco to be ready by dark, which, since it was early summer, would be somewhere around nine o' clock.

Draco went straight to his wing of the manor, entering his huge bedroom and finding that the house-elves had unpacked his belongings. He flopped onto his bed, glancing at the bedside table which held a picture in a silver frame. It was of him when he was five and he was clinging onto Lukas' back. He remembered that day fondly. It was the middle of summer and they had gone on a picnic. Lukas was running with him on his back, pretending to be a 'horsey' and had a passerby take their picture. They were both smiling and waving at the camera and the Muggle had no idea that the camera he was holding took moving pictures, and so he had thought it was strange that they kept moving for the shot, but he had been good-natured about the whole thing. It was the only photo Draco had of Lukas.

Draco rolled onto his back and stared up at his ceiling. It was relatively simple what he had to do, at least, the idea was relatively simple. He needed to remain Mark-free until midnight to gain the 25 million galleons he had in his personal vaults and then he needed to get away. The complications were that no one could know that he wasn't going to take the Mark, or Lucius would cut him off.

He supposed he could find some way of keeping Voldemort talking until past midnight, but then he needed to get away, and fast. Apparating was out of the question, since the wards would be up, so that left a Portkey.

He sat up suddenly, his mind lighting on an idea that was ridiculously straightforward. He didn't need to wait past midnight, he just needed to guarantee that Lucius, and preferably the rest of the Death Eaters, couldn't _leave_ past midnight.

Of course, setting up a ward that would keep a hundred or so Death Eaters in one place would be absolutely ludicrous. First of all, even Draco doubted he could have one last as long as he needed to, secondly, he would have to do it completely unobtrusively, which would be impossible. However, pulling down the wards at Hogwarts was impossible as well, but Stevick had still managed to cause havoc by merely manipulating the wards. Draco would have to do the same. He sprang off the bed, running to his wardrobe and pulling open the hidden drawer. He had Dark Magic books in here, ones that should tell him how to manipulate wards that were being cast, and then he would need a portkey, a rather complex portkey, but he had stolen that library book, so he should find what he needed in there.

Draco risked a glance at the clock. It was seven o' clock; he had two hours.

As it turns out, he didn't even need the full two hours. The Portkey had been easy to make, which was a pleasant surprise. As for the wards, well the tricky part would not be putting them up, because he theoretically would not be setting them up, but merely manipulating them. The trick was changing them so the caster did not notice. Of course, after that was the fact that he could only maintain the wards for so long when he wasn't inside of the field, so he would have to stay as long as possible to keep the Death Eaters in one place. That way, Lucius couldn't contact anyone to nullify his personal vaults.

He walked down the hall into his own private study. He had converted the back of the room into a potions lab and he had quite a few ingredients on hand. The difficulty to this would be timing.

He left the room and quietly made his way across the mansion to his mother's room and opened the door, spotting his mother lounging on her chaise with half a dozen wine glasses around her. She was drunk, and most likely high as well. It was better this way.

"Mother," he said, coming into the room.

Narcissa Malfoy rolled her head in his direction, the sapphire eyes focusing somewhere to the left of him. It was astounding how beautiful she was even when completely wasted. Her hair was still gold, her cheeks still rosy, her eyes as bright as ever, and her lips cherry red. She looked like an angel.

It was said that Draco looked exactly like his father, but Draco had his mother's long fingers, the tendency to be on the skinny side, and the bewitching, captivating smile that was capable of ensnaring even the most hardened of hearts. Of course, Draco rarely smiled, so no one made the connection.

It was that smile that Narcissa turned in his direction.

"Michael?" she asked, seduction practically dripping from her voice. "Is that you?"

"No, it's me, Mother," said Draco. "I came to say good-bye."

"Who?" asked his mother, one hand drifting in the air in a lazy attempt to dismiss him. "Go away; I don't want anything."

Draco sighed, not knowing why he had even bothered. He had time to spare and it had seemed like something he should do, after all, he may not ever see her again, but right now, he thought that never seeing her again might be best for the both of them.

He went back to his room, putting the Portkey in his pocket and pulling on black robes. He took both his unregistered wand (the one that he had used to make the Portkey) and his real wand in his pocket and surveyed the room. This was it.

The clock in his study was just sounding out nine chimes when he poured water into three small glass vials and then put in powdered dragon scale. He corked the potions tightly and put the vials in his pocket as well and then ran downstairs to meet his father in the Great Hall.

His father was waiting for him and wordlessly held out his hand, the white mask already on his face. Draco suppressed a shiver at the blank white stare but took the proffered hand and Lucius Apparated.

Draco was used to Side-Along Apparation, but that didn't mean he liked it. They appeared in a ragged, overgrown lawn in front of a large white house, the Riddle House.

Death Eaters had already gathered, though Voldemort was yet to arrive. Draco could count maybe twenty of the masked followers and two others who were like him, bare-faced. New recruits. Lucius dropped his hand and went off to converse with a large shape and a curvy one Draco knew to be Nott, Sr. and Bellatrix. He took the opportunity to steal away slightly from the group and slipped the vials from his pocket onto the grass below, spreading them out slightly.

Once done, he casually walked back to the group as if he had just been meandering aimlessly and joined Nott, the sixth year, and the other boy. More Death Eaters arrived in the space of ten minutes and by quarter after, all had assembled. Draco waited anxiously for Voldemort, knowing that the vials would go off soon, and Voldemort needed to be there.

Another minute past and Draco was practically holding his breath when the Dark Lord appeared with a crack, almost invisible in his black cloak, though his pasty face and red eyes glowed unnaturally.

"Greetings my loyal servants," he hissed grandly, though he was interrupted by a _pop_! as if someone had just Apparated, but no one appeared. The Death Eaters all started, looking around nervously. Water and powdered dragon scale, when mixed together, create a gaseous build-up. The gases had expanded within the vials until the corks were forced off with a sharp noise. Another _pop_! sounded right afterwards and then another. Voldemort whipped out his wand, pulling up anti-Apparation wards.

This was the moment. Draco to advantage of the distracted gazes and mutterings to cast his own spells on the wards, muttering quietly and using the unregistered wand. Voldemort was too worried about Aurors to notice the fact that the wards were changing.

"Adfectio solidus. Adfectio compingo."

He kept up the chant for as long as Voldemort set up the wards, breathing a sigh of relief when Voldemort finished and he remained undiscovered, that is, he was relieved until he came into full understanding of what he had done. He had just locked himself in with a group of Death Eaters. He had half a notion to leave right then, screw the 25 million, and portkey away and run straight to Bill, but it was 25 million. He couldn't walk away from that.

"Everyone unmask so we can find the spies!" Voldemort was screaming, but very few people moved to comply.

"Milord," said Nott, "the initiates have yet to swear fidelity."

"Not a problem," Bellatrix growled, grabbing the nearest recruit and throwing him to his knees. She conjured a black cloth and tied it around the recruit's eyes. "Don't move," she ordered.

Immediately Draco and the rest of the bare-faced members were forced over to the blindfolded young man, who was sweating and trembling visibly, and shoved to their knees as well while blindfolds were tied tight around their heads, plunging them into complete blackness. The night became that much darker, and that much more frightening.

He could hear noises around him. Orders given from Voldemort and crucio and a scream following when the order wasn't obeyed fast enough. He could hear the ragged breathing of the other recruits and the pleas of the rest of the Death Eaters. Who wanted that for a life?

He had no idea how long the search lasted, but finally Voldemort was satisfied. He tried to think back to see if he could judge how much time had passed, but suddenly there was motion near him and he jerked slightly as a piece of silk brushed his cheek. Sweet Merlin, that was Voldemort's cloak. He tensed, trying to sense the motion, resisting the urge to rip off the blindfold.

"Do not cover your faces, my servants," Voldemort commanded his Death Eaters. "They will remain this way while the pledges are given individually."

Draco heard a recruit behind him gasp and stumble to his feet as something light dropped to the ground. He reached back to feel a blindfold on the ground. So, that recruit was to be the first initiate.

"Tell me, my servant," hissed Voldemort. "What is your name?"

"O-own Myserie, s-sir," came the trembling voice.

"What do you see when you look across my followers?"

There was silence while Owen tried to format a response. "D-death Eaters?" came the reply.

"Crucio!"

There was a scream and the sound of a body falling. The curse ended and Owen was left gasping.

"Tell me, Owen," said Voldemort, "what would you do if I asked you to murder?"

"Murder?" asked Owen, his brain still not catching up with the question.

"Crucio!"

Another scream.

"What if I asked you to kill your family?"

There was a pause, obviously too long of one.

"Crucio!"

A sob now.

"What if I asked you to kill yourself?"

"Wh-what?"

Wrong answer. Another curse and pleading now.

"I demand obedience Owen," said Voldemort. "Always remember that."

And then there was a searing hiss, the smell of burning flesh, and more screaming.

"Rise, Owen, as a faithful servant to your lord."

Draco could make out unsteady footsteps as Owen Myserie joined the ranks and then another recruit was taken.

"What is your name?"

"Theodore Nott."

"What do you see, Theodore, when you look across my followers?"

"My future," said Nott firmly, with only a slight waver of fear in his voice. From the absence of a curse, he had answered correctly.

"What would you do if I asked you to murder?"

"I would do it, milord."

"If I asked you to kill your family?"

"I would do it, milord."

"If I asked you to kill yourself?"

"I- I would do it, milord."

"Crucio!"

Body falling. Piercing scream then gasps then nothing.

"I demand complete devotion. No hesitation."

The searing hiss and burning flesh, though the scream was half-bitten back, and Nott Jr. joined the ranks. Another recruit was taken.

"Tell me, my servant, what is your name?"

"Dienda Maynor."

"What do you see when you look across my followers?"

"My future."

"Crucio!"

A scream.

"That was what Theodore Nott saw. What do _you_ see?"

And so it continued. Some recruits managed to get away with only one crucio, others failed every question, but Draco knew that his time was coming any minute, but every time he was passed over and the fear in his stomach only increased. Finally, he felt footsteps behind him and the blindfold was removed his face and he was pulled to his feet, blinking in the dim light.

He was the last recruit to be taken, and he could tell from the height of the moon that it was still too soon to leave the wards. He had to stall for time, for as much time as he could manage.

He was turned around to face the crowd and found himself staring eye-to-eye with the Dark Lord. Voldemort pulled back, studying him intently, and then slowly began to circle him.

"Tell me, my servant, what is your name?"

Draco tried not to fall into the temptation of following the Dark Lord with his eyes and stared straight ahead.

"Milord already knows my name," he said calmly, though he was fighting to keep from trembling.

He could hear Voldemort stop behind him, and dead silence fell over the gathered Death Eaters.

"What makes you say that?" asked Voldemort, still behind him.

"Milord knows all," said Draco, putting a tone of reverence in his voice.

"True," said Voldemort. "Very true. Now tell me your name."

"Draco Malfoy, milord."

"And Draco, what do you see when you look across my followers?"

Draco paused slightly. "Power, milord."

"Power in numbers, do you mean?"

"No," said Draco, hearing the shocked silence growing, if that was possible, and seeing the faces of the Death Eaters staring up at him.

"Explain," said Voldemort.

"You and your followers are outnumbered drastically, and if the rest of the country were to rise up they would surely defeat you, but they do not. They are afraid and weak. You have created an army and given them your cause. You have empowered your servants and they do your bidding."

Voldemort was silent and then Draco could hear him take a step so he was directly behind him. The hot, putrid breath washed over his neck as Voldemort spoke.

"You have seen correctly. I have made these men strong. Without me, they fall and are weak."

Voldemort pulled back and walked in front of him, regarding him severely.

"What would you do if I told you to murder?"

"I would ask milord how many he wished dead," said Draco.

Voldemort chuckled slightly. "And if I asked you to kill your family?"

Draco was silent for a moment. There was no way he could kill his father, and although he could lie about it, he had a feeling Voldemort was smart enough to pick up on the falsehood.

"I would ask milord to do it for me," he said, keeping his tone even.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "And why is this?"

"The only reason you would wish my family dead is if they betrayed you," said Draco. "And who am I to take your revenge?"

Voldemort's red eyes gleamed slightly. "And if I asked you to kill yourself?"

"I would ask you how you wished me to die."

Voldemort regarded him silently, and Draco kept his eyes focused straight ahead and not into the red ones, but even so, he could feel the faintest brushes of Legilimency but his shields were already in place.

"I sense pride in you, young Malfoy," said Voldemort finally. "There is no place for two lords. Crucio!"

Fire. That was what he felt. White hot burning flames tearing over his skin and through his body. He tried to bite back the scream, clenching his teeth together so that the cry was half-strangled. He wasn't even aware that he had fallen to the ground until the curse ended and he found himself gulping in air while staring at the grass.

"Rise, Draco."

He struggled to his feet, only to see Voldemort's wand pointed at him again.

"Crucio!"

He fell back, again biting off the scream as the fire returned, blotting out everything else in existence and this time it was held on longer.

"_Rise_, Draco," commanded Voldemort, once he took off the spell.

Draco could still feel the curse, could still feel the fire running up and down his limbs, but he forced himself to stand.

"Crucio!"

This time the scream didn't even make it past his lips before his mouth was shut, smothering the cry as he desperately tried to get away from the pain. He was shaking when the curse was lifted, shaking and sweating, but Voldemort was commanding him to rise again. He was momentarily confused when the red eyes rested on him with no malice as he stood on unsteady feet, but he suddenly understood when Voldemort raised his wand again.

This time when the curse was cast, he threw himself forward, catching himself on his hands and knees even as his jaw locked, preventing him from screaming, so that he was not face down before the Dark Lord. He was as risen as he could be under the strain of the curse; Voldemort was testing him. The curse was lifted almost immediately and Voldemort knelt beside him as he gasped in air, trembling so hard he felt he would collapse at any moment.

"No tears," said Voldemort in wonder, tipping his chin up and looking into his eyes. The spider-like white fingers brushed at his face tenderly and it was all Draco could do not to gag. "There is no room for two lords, Draco, but every lord must have an heir."

Voldemort was grabbing him then and pulling him up. Draco swayed slightly, once he was on his feet, but a few deep breaths helped steady him.

"Well, young Malfoy?" asked Voldemort. "What do you have to say to your lord at the honor of being chosen as my heir?"

Draco's eyes slid to the gathered Death Eaters, all looking up at him with awed expressions on their face and then he looked up at the moon. He turned back to the Dark Lord.

"Just this," he said. "_Fuck you_."

He registered the shock in Voldemort's face right before he plunged his hand into his pocket. His fingers touched the cool metal of the picture frame from his bedside table and then there was a jerk from behind his navel and he was gone.

He appeared in Hogsmeade, stumbling slightly because he wasn't exactly in the best of shape but managing to catch himself. He Apparated, appearing on a quiet street and walking over to the house on the left. He had to pick the lock and then avoid a few rather clever wards but he managed to get in and then lit the candles in the house. The clock said it was eleven thirty which meant that the Death Eaters would get out of the wards in about forty five minutes.

He rummaged around the desk in the study and pulled out a sheet of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a quill. He took the things to the kitchen table so he could watch the clock as he wrote.

It was twelve-ten when he heard the front door opening, and he frowned. His calculations had been off. He went back to writing the letter, not minding the owner of the house who appeared in the hall with a wand pointed at him.

"Hello, Professor," said Draco, finally looking up.

Severus Snape lowered his wand. "Why am I not surprised to see you here?"

Draco shrugged, then wondered why Snape didn't seem more shocked to have him at home. He vaguely wondered if Snape knew that Draco knew he was a spy. Snape went to a pantry and pulled out two glasses and a bottle of firewhiskey. He poured a good two inches in each tumbler and then handed one to Draco, taking a seat at the other end of the table.

"It was an impressive stunt you pulled," he said.

Draco took a few rather large swallows of the firewhiskey, knowing that the alcohol would help his muscles loosen and recover from the Cruciatuses he had received. He then signed the letter and folded it up.

"I would like you to give this to Bill Weasley at your next Order meeting," said Draco, sliding the letter over.

Snape nodded, making no move to take the parchment. An owl tapped on the window and Snape got up to open it and took the letter, reading the address and then handing it to Draco.

Draco quickly opened it, reading the inside information with a slight smirk.

_To Mr. Draco L. Malfoy,  
This is a notification from the Gringotts back informing you that the money held in the joint accounts of Mr. Lucius Malfoy and yourself have been moved into private vaults for your own personal use. Please stop by the bank at your earliest convenience so that funds and trusts can be discussed.  
Sincerely,  
Grimley Hordans, Bank President_

He stood up, draining the remaining whiskey in the glass and setting it down on the table.

"Well, good bye, Professor," he said, pocketing the bank letter.

Snape walked him to the door and Draco left, but turned back to the Potions Master.

"I would like it if you kept what happened at the meeting between you and me," he said.

"Of course," said Snape. "I was a little afraid you would take his offer for a minute there."

Draco frowned slightly. "Why didn't you ever say anything to me?" he asked. "About not taking the Mark?"

"I figured that if you were smart enough to get straight E's every year, you were smart enough to figure out that the Dark Lord is not the way to go," said Severus.

Draco started, but Severus merely gave a thin-lipped smile and shut the door. Draco shook his head at that, then Apparated away.

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Bill couldn't concentrate on anything for the rest of the day. It was a miracle that he even managed to get all packed up he was so distracted. His mind kept drifting to a certain blond kid and a red-eyed man and his stomach would clench, giving him a faintly nauseas feeling.

He took the Floo back to the Burrow, then headed over to Grimmauld Place where the Weasley family would be staying for awhile.

His distraction was noted during dinnertime when he merely pushed his food around his plate and kept glancing at the clock.

"Are you okay, Bill?" asked his mother, getting a concerned look in her eyes. Ever since he had escaped from Voldemort she had been particularly protective of him.

"I'm fine," he said, giving her a reassuring smile. "I just have a headache."

A few of the Order members arrived later that night as they were to have a meeting early tomorrow morning due to the fact that Severus informed Dumbledore that afternoon that there was to be an initiation in the Death Eaters. Bill, of course, already knew about it.

He didn't sleep at all that night and he got up before anyone else and started the coffee. Gradually the other members woke up, and a few more arrived, and then Snape was there and the meeting was started.

"Six new recruits," said Severus without preamble. "Theodore Nott, Crabbe and Goyle, Owen Myserie, Diendra Maynor, and Pieter Jordans."

Not Draco, thought Bill, he didn't say Draco. He was relieved and, at the same time, even more worried. Did that mean something went wrong? Was Draco hurt?

He stared at the Potions Master, wanting to know more, but Draco's name was never even mentioned. The meeting was over in a few minutes as no one wanted to dwell on dark things when summer had just started. Bill stood with the rest as the members began saying good-bye, or grabbing one last piece of toast or cup of coffee before heading back to their home.

"Bill," said Severus, coming up to him and nodding. "How are you today?"

"Good," said Bill, knowing that Severus would know what had happened to Draco. "By any chance, was Draco Malfoy at the meeting last night?" He kept his voice low to keep from anyone over hearing. That would only lead to some difficult questions.

"He was," said Severus, looking at him a little curiously. "But he left early and caused quite a commotion."

"So he's alright," said Bill.

Severus paused for a moment, as if trying to figure out what exactly he should say. He finally gave up and pulled a letter out of his pocket, handing it over to Bill.

"He asked me to give that to you," he said.

"What does it say?" asked Bill, wanting to know right then what had happened.

"I don't read Ancient Runes," said Severus, "so I wouldn't know."

Bill unfolded the letter and smiled at the hieroglyphics across the page. "Might take me a while to translate this," he remarked.

"Not quite as smart as Draco, then?" asked Severus, prying slightly.

Bill looked up at that, wondering how the Professor had known. "Not even close," he said truthfully. "When did you-?" he let the question hang.

"The end of third year," said Snape. "Straight E's three times in a row? Not a common occurrence. Good-day, Bill."

"See you Severus," said Bill. He watched the spy leave and then went straight to his room, pulling out his green book with his notes on the Syrian dialect and pulling out parchment, ink and quill to translate the message. It took him half an hour and he sat back and read the translation.

_Bill,  
No doubt you didn't sleep at all last night, with you and your Gryffindor tendencies to worry far too much for your own good, but you can relax. I'm completely tattoo-less, but you already figured I would say 'no', didn't you? And just so that you won't continue fretting, I'm fine, and that's the truth, although by 12:30 this morning I'll probably be disinherited and on my way to being disowned, which has never happened to a Malfoy before, but then again, a Malfoy has never befriended a Weasley either, so I guess I'm just all full of firsts. Before you get the urge to try to contact me and offer me your unwavering support and any help I may need, I should warn you that I'm leaving the country for a while. By the time you get this letter, I'll be on my way and I will be fully untraceable, so don't bother even trying. However, since I know it will make you feel better, I'll write every week to let you know I'm still alive and send you the progress I'll be making on the runes. And Bill, don't worry too hard – I am a genius.  
Draco_

_p.s. Thanks._

Bill smiled at the letter, chuckling slightly at the derisive tone that was apparent even in the written words. He folded the letter and translation up and shoved it in the bottom of his trunk where he kept the small leather bound journal, then went downstairs to join the rest of his family.

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Well, one more chapter! And information on the sequel will be posted then. Please review!


	30. Departure

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own a new job waitressing, but I'm not really sure how I like it…if something better comes along, I'll take it.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Stay tuned after the epilogue for a summary of the sequel…

**Mask**: I cut the hair…sorry  
**Carla Coleman**: LOL, pink elephant/ Voldemort. I love it! As for Harry and visions, stayed tuned for the sequel, because you are right on the money  
**Chicklepea**: Thank you very much, and sorry about the lengthy wait, but it's amazing how busy one gets with nothing to do  
**E-****san: **Don't worry. I can safely promise that (excepting some sort of disaster befall me) all of my stories will remain intact and completed. There is nothing worse than an incomplete story…well, there _is_, but you know what I mean  
**Mimic**: Muchos gracias. A mi me encanta escribir y quiero que usted quiera mi cuento. There. I hope that makes since. I'm okay at reading Spanish, but I can't write it for the life of me, but thank you so much!  
**Slickslytherin**: Sometimes I think that my imagination is too good because I don't pay attention in class very well. That was actually where I got the idea for this story. I was sitting in physics class and it just hit me. Needless to say I spent the rest of the class thinking out little scenes here and there instead of concentrating, lol. Thank you very much.  
**Lilith**: Unfortunately, Draco isn't going anyplace really cool, he needs to think a few things out, but don't worry, the boringness won't be in the sequel, but will jump back into the action, hopefully. Thanks for the review.  
**Dreamcandy**: I'm glad that you liked the story, and yes it was ended, but the sequel is pending! Thanks for reviewing.

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Twenty-one year old Drake Matthews was sitting at the airport gate in one of those plastic seats with half a centimeter of padding, as if the thin strip of foam was really supposed to make them comfortable.

Chelsea Jones watched him from her stand at the ticket counter. She had found it hard to believe that the young man was really twenty-one, he looked more like eighteen, but that was the age on his passport, and that meant he was old enough for her to show some interest. He was attracting quite a few other looks from the teenaged girls who were traveling back to their home in New York as well and it was easy to see why he would catch their eyes.

He was thin, perhaps a little too thin and very pale, but he had the most gorgeous white-blond hair there was and it was cut short, but his bangs kept falling into silver eyes framed by the longest black lashes Chelsea had ever seen. She had gotten a close look when she checked over his ticket. He also had a beautiful face with sharp features and he had given her a quick smile of thanks when she handed his ticket back that had nearly made her swoon.

She fluffed her own blonde hair, knowing that she looked very nice in the tight blouse and skirt outfit, and that the white of her shirt showed off her perfect, tanning salon bronze skin, but he didn't notice. He didn't notice any of the looks he was gaining. He was writing something in a journal and from what Chelsea could see of it, it looked like hieroglyphics of some kind.

So she just watched in silence, noticing the way his long fingers tapped out some sort of pattern as he consulted another notebook. The girls from New York all giggled when he pulled off his black sweater, the act exposing a flat stomach with a hint of a six pack as his t-shirt rose up as well. He didn't notice them, pulling the green t-shirt down and going back to work. Chelsea liked his look, the baggy jeans, the t-shirt that brought out the silver in his eyes, and the cool charm he wore on a leather strap close to his throat. It was laidback and casual, but still with a sense of style.

She got the all-clear from the voice in her headset, and paged the intercom.

"Flight 132 is now boarding to New York City," she said. "At this time, first class passengers are allowed to board."

She noticed that Drake Matthews packed up his things in a black book bag, but made no move to join the line of first class snobs. She wondered if he was a student.

He got on with the rest of the coach passengers, and Chelsea purposefully brushed his hand when taking his pass to scan it. Behind him the obnoxious teens from New York were giggling again as they stared at his butt and, for a moment, Chelsea thought he was completely oblivious to the attention as she rolled her eyes ever-so-slightly at their antics.

To her surprise, he rolled his eyes as well in response. She nearly laughed at that, managing to suppress it into a wide grin.

"Have a good flight, Mr. Matthews," she said, and brushed his fingers again when handing the pass back.

He gave her a slight, knowing smirk and his fingers pressed back lightly, and then he walked onto the plane. Chelsea took the teenagers' passes next, glaring at them from behind her smile. She sincerely hoped that Drake Matthews was far away from them on the plane.

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Draco settled back into the plane seat, glad that he had gotten the window. The last minute cancellation had served him well, and although he didn't really have a desire to go to the States, he had merely called and asked for the first available flight out of country. He supposed it was better than going to Canada.

He watched the luggage trucks down below, picking up the faint laughter from the teen girls from New York and silently said a prayer of thanks that they were eight rows behind him.

A young man of about twenty-five with a decidedly 'punk' look about him shoved a worn duffel bag into the over head compartment and then slid into the seat next to Draco.

"I'm Mark," he said with an American accent, holding out his hand and Draco shook it, wondering how he had managed to get through the airport metal detectors with the ears full of metal and a few hoops in his eyebrows as well.

"Drake," he said in greeting.

"I was visiting my sister in London," said Mark, settling in his seat and making conversation. "She went to college here and got married to this guy she met. He's a pretty cool guy, I suppose. What brings you across the pond?"

Draco paused, but then mentally shrugged. "I'm running away from home," he said.

"Nice," said Mark, drawing out the word to give it emphasis. "I did that to when I was fifteen. Best thing I have ever done. Me and my old man didn't really get along. He's some big shot lawyer, and I wanted to be a car mechanic. But I've got my own shop now for fixing cars."

And he proceeded to go into a long spiel about what types of cars he could fix and how to modify engines, but Draco found he didn't mind at all; it was much better than listening to the pre-flight safety instructions given by the flight attendants. He already knew it anyways as he had spent the early morning learning everything he could about airplanes.

Their aircraft began to taxi onto the runway and Draco pictured how the engines were working as they picked up speed and then visualized the air currents and shape of the wing. It really was incredible to think that something this large and heavy could get into the air, but the physics worked, and Draco had faith in the numbers.

"First time flying?" asked Mark, once they were in the air.

Draco figured that he was being rather obvious about it, as he had been staring out the window for fifteen minutes straight.

"Yeah," he said.

"It's pretty cool, isn't it?" asked Mark, with a huge grin on his face, and for a moment, Draco was reminded of a man with long red hair and a fang earring.

He grinned back.

"Yes, it is."

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THE END!

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Ahem. "Drum roll, please!" The moment you have all been waiting for. At this time I wish to answer all of your questions, including 'You are going to write a sequel, right?' 'Is there going to be romance in the sequel?' 'Who will Draco end up with?' 'Do other people find out about Draco's secret?' 'Will Draco join the Order?' 'Will Lucius and Voldemort figure out the truth?' And many, many more.

So, first things first.

One. I AM WRITING A SEQUEL!

And, yes, there will be some romance, however, it is mostly pre-romance, as in setting up the romance so if I decide on a third story, Draco can get a girlfriend. While my intentions were first for a Draco/Hermione fic, it is now going to be a Draco/Ginny pairing. Why?

To be entirely honest, at first it was peer pressure. Yes, I caved, however it was more than that. I experimented with writing Hermione's character, just to see if I could get it right, and it was terrible. Like, I tried writing this one scene for the sequel a few months ago, and it was bad. Really bad. I just got her all wrong. So, in respect for Hermione's character, whom I like greatly, I will not be writing a D/Hr fic.

Another thing, one of my reviewers Wizzabee suggested that Draco and Ginny were perfect for each other, because Ginny was touched by Voldemort's darkness, so maybe she could help Draco overcome his dark side, and I was like 'huh, that's a really good point, I never really focused on that side of Ginny before', and so that swayed me.

BUT….perhaps the biggest reason of all that it will be such a good match (Draco/Ginny) is because can you imagine Bill's reaction when he finds out that his sister and Draco have feelings and intentions towards each other? Talk about not knowing how to act!

HOWEVER….like I said before, it will be mostly setting up the romance, so those of you who dislike the romance, relax, and those of you who want it, be patient and content yourselves with the little pieces I leave in. Besides, this next fic will mostly focus on Draco becoming friends with people, because he can't be a boyfriend without first being a friend. And that is very sound advice coming from a girl who is studying Psychology.

As for other people finding out about Draco, yes, people find out. Not all of them, and not all at first, but people do find out, starting with Dumbledore. As for Lucius and Voldemort, they find out nearer the end as well, but not in the way that you probably suspect.

As for Draco joining the Order, not in this fic, at least, not that I know of so far, but hey, things might change, I'm just following my muse, so maybe at the end. What you should know, however, is that just because Draco Malfoy isn't join the Order does not mean that he isn't fighting the good fight against Voldemort. He will be quite instrumental in a Ministry-promoted…thing. I don't really know what to call it.

AND, also in the sequel, Draco finds out that he has a niece, he (in a rather nice silver Cadillac convertible) rescues Harry Potter from his relatives, gets captured by Death Eaters, translates at least one of the Eleven Persian Runes, gets officially disowned (the paper work takes forever to go through) and meets (very briefly) one Sirius Black who returns from the grave all in, but not necessarily in that order, in my new story entitled…(duh-duh-dunnnnn)

"The Code Breaker"

Coming soon to a fan-fiction website near you!

Expect it in a week or so, unless I get tons of reviews, saying "Put it up now!" and in that case...I might put it up sooner. So review! (grins - I just love blackmail!)


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